#Testimony of Solomon

[avalior]

While it was strongly claimed during Cosmic Turnabout that Clay caused Solomon's unconsciousness by overdosing him on his anxiety medication, this was not the case.

Solomon's PTSD would likely be treated with SSRIs, with the most likely prescriptions being venlafaxine, sertraline, or paroxetine. Of these three, only sertraline has an explicit side effect of potential loss of consciousness -- however, experiencing this side effect would be cause for hospitalisation and would not be conducive to space travel once Solomon was conscious. The only other alternative would be to cause serotonin syndrome by forcing Solomon's serotonin levels to spike beyond control, through either a medication overdose or combining his existing medication with other tablets to raise his serotonin.

However, serotonin syndrome would also run considerable risk of seizures and arrhythmia, which again would not be conducive to space travel and would be far too inexact as to how much of the medication to give Solomon without a) killing him b) causing him to be entirely unfit for space travel, rather than just knocked out for the launch and c) causing any of the other side effects of serotonin syndrome instead of unconsciousness in isolation.

This also does not tally with Simon explicitly stating that traces of medication were found in Solomon's system -- presuming Solomon had blood drawn shortly following Clay's attempted murder being discovered and police arriving, there is no feasible way that Solomon's unconsciousness could have been induced by his medication as the volume needed to cause the unconsciousness would show in far higher quantities in bloodwork than just "traces".

In truth, Clay assisted Yuri in 'managing' Solomon's anxiety with the launch by including generic sleeping tablets in his usual medication, passing them off as additional vitamins and assisting in this deception by taking visually similar actual vitamins himself. It was these tablets which caused Solomon's loss of consciousness for the HAT-2 launch; far safer than hamfistedly overdosing Solomon on his medication until he caused unconsciousness.

Clay worked under the assumption, with Yuri's deceitful confirmation, that the drugging was consensual and Solomon was aware of this potential plan, with Solomon being consensually unaware of the details as to avoid further anxiety. Following his recovery from the Phantom's attack, once he is medically cleared, Clay does stand trial for Solomon's spiking on charges of infliction of bodily harm.

[legalbrats]

📔 I wonder what Sebastian has to say about his enigmatic mentor, Solomon?

send “📔” to read an entry from my muse’s diary about your muse

Dear diary,

...

Mr. Solomon visited again. He started doing it more often now.

It's interesting! I never knew I had a talent for anysomething. P- Blaise- that m- Pops never knew either.

I know I decided to become a better prosecutor than him, but I am starting to wonder.

...

[faithcampaigner]

The Witness in Sacrifice

Season 4 (Part 2) 🎞 Faith-Array Season 4: Part 2▫️ The Witness of Spirit – Part 2: Witness in Sacrifice 🔥 In this Part 2, “Witness in Sacrifice,” we delve into the profound connection between the Spirit’s witness and the call to sacrificial living. We will explore how the Spirit empowers us through the system of honor, to embrace sacrifice as a vital expression of our faith and commitment to…

[slytherizz]

Fight or Flight - Sebastian Sallow/F!MC

Summary: Sometimes sleeping dogs don't lie.

Two years after his uncles death and with Anne missing the last remaining Auror who scents deception requests a testimony from the only person witness to what really happened between Sebastian and Solomon in the catacombs that day. In a bid to protect those memories and keep him out of Azkaban their marriage is arranged - A marriage Sebastian is hell bent on putting a stop to.

Word count: 15,000 (remember when I said I’d keep it under 10k)

Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, First Time

Link: You can find the complete fic on Ao3.

A/N: Sebastian ‘my wife’ Sallow. To the anon who requested this, I’m sorry it’s so late but it was so much fun to write.

Sebastian is almost certain he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal confundus charm. Either that or he was at present suffering a massive life altering haemorrhage somewhere amongst the sun deceptively warming his cheeks and the familiar groan of the dragon bones anchored above them, as it tilted its great head in greeting when they'd arrived in Hecate's office. Full of mysterious tombs and the lingering scent of smoke. Ash trampled so tightly into the grooves in the floorboards he doubted even the house elves could scour out the smell. 

He’d gotten too comfortable. No. Down right complacent as of late and now his psyche in a riotous act of self-preservation was giving him a blistering slap back into reality. 

Pull yourself together. 

Sebastian dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. He hissed at the sharp pain as he broke the skin. Felt the blood prickle hot against his sweat slicked palms as it beaded along the thin superficial wound. Uncomfortable. Stinging. And far, far too real. 

“What-?” he managed to croak around a lump in his throat. Praying to Merlin that if this wasn’t a dream it was some elaborate and albeit cruel practical joke. 

“Spousal Privileges,” Hecat repeated. Matter of fact. Her features were drawn and to his dismay betraying no hint of amusement. 

Sebastian choked violently on his own saliva. A hacked cough, raw against his throat. As if the wind had been knocked out of him by a patient and vindictive phantom.

“What this means is you couldn’t be forced to give a testimony or surrender any memories pertaining to anything to do with Mr Sallow. With his sister still missing, the only people who know what really happened in that catacomb are the two of you. If you can’t be forced to corroborate this theory that has been gaining traction at the Ministry that’s the way it stays,” his professor continued to address the witch beside him, unmoved by the blood draining rapidly from his face. 

Her eyes were fixed intently on Hecat, chin raised as she refused to meet Sebastian’s increasingly panicked eye. He shifted in his seat towards her. Turning rapidly back and forth between her and their professor. 

Waiting. A heartbeat and then more passed. Mounting up until it became a deafening drum in his ears. 

He wanted her to laugh. Let it loose. Burst the dangerous tension mounting with every second this insanity stretched on for. Most pathetically of all - he wanted her to save him. Wanted to watch her face crease with laughter at the absurdity of what Hecat was saying. Cling to some sense of normalcy, her stability by his side whilst the rest of him was spiralling out of control.

She was uncharacteristically still in her chair. As frozen as the statue of the mourning lover in the courtyard. Her fist clenched so tightly in the pleats of her skirt her knuckles blanched. A half finished braid she’d been fiddling with behind her ear hung abandoned. Not a shadow of humour remaining. 

“Why now? It’s been years since…”  she asked, with a more measured tone Sebastian felt the situation did not warrant.

She spared him a glance which did little to put him at ease. If anything the serious crease to her brow set him on a razor's edge. 

Sebastian was unravelling. The thread he’d used to stitch back together a semblance of a life was pulling apart at an alarming rate. And the only two people who had any hope of holding him back together were entertaining this insanity. 

“Some of Miss Sallow’s effects were uncovered at the former Feldcroft residence. It seems no one had tended to the home since your Uncle passed…unexpectedly. My contact at the Ministry informs me that there's only one Auror pushing for those memories. Sergeant Tuttle. Old guard. Worked closely with your uncle when they were both juniors in the department. The rest are happy to let Solomon’s memory remain as it has been for the past two years - the heroic final act protecting his young charges from a horde of uncontrollable inferi,” she paused and Sebastian felt the weight of every word. “Personally I am inclined to agree.”

Hecate’s already thin lips pulled so tight they almost entirely disappeared. Her inscrutable brown eyes peeling back the curtain seeing far beyond the truth to the crux of him. Weighing his mettle. And he wasn’t sure she’d be impressed at what she found. 

Because what he was - was careless. Sebastian supposed he could argue that his distress over losing his sister had made it too painful to return. Knowing Anne was not there, Feldcroft seemed rather pointless. 

But really all he’d been was too eager to turn his back on that hovel that had never been his home. Ivy grew thick over its stones and he hoped one day it would pull it down entirely. No one had touched the wards in over a year. Perhaps when he’d boxed up his feelings and shoved them away in his desperation to move past what he had done, he didn’t consider the possibility that there were others out there who, unlike him, may not want to move on so hastily from Solomon's death. 

Anne certainly hadn’t. 

“With you two being so close, this is the cleanest option-” Hecate continued. 

“I don’t bloody care about clean!” Sebastian broke from his stupor. Fist slamming on the table rattling the spoon from where it rested against his saucer. “Tell me the other options. I don’t care how messy they are. I’ll do them.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Hecat said sharply. “This is your only option. And you’d do well not to leap to such dramatics if you want this to work, Mr Sallow. In particular I’d advise against taking such a tone with me.” 

Sebastian didn’t care. He’d already geared up to argue back against this preposterous idea when the statue of the witch beside him suddenly came to life. As if Pygmalion himself had loved her into life just to spite Sebastian. 

“We’ll do it,” she said firmly. 

Sebastian choked again, head snapping to look at her. “You can’t be serious!” 

She simply glared back at him, as if he wasn’t the only reasonable person left in the room. “I’ve kept you out of Azkaban this long-“

Their professor cleared her throat, having little patience for the squabblings of teenagers that was beginning to unfold in her office. It set Sebastian even more on edge. She’d thrown a bomb into their lives and was now regarding him as some petulant child causing a scene. As if instead while he was scrambling to hold it together she expected him to thank her for it. 

“I’d choose your words more carefully in front of an audience but I admire the passion. If you want this to succeed you’ll have to make them believe this. Believe you. You can’t cast any doubt on the reason for any of it. A young couple, so in love they simply cannot wait to be married.”

***

It was like taking a match to a forest doused in kerosine. How quickly word could spread overnight when students kept such close quarters and they were eager for anything to save them from revision. Whispers billowed up from steeped mugs. Steam laced with secrets curled around their lips. Huddled so tightly together they looked like hydras. Each set of eyes alight with amusement. Teeth bared ready to feast on their speculation. 

From the moment Sebastian had stepped into the Great Hall he’d felt it. The oppressive shift to the atmosphere that usually welcomed him each morning. Clouds dark, heavy with the foreboding rain swirled on the enchanted sky. At least it was fitting.

Instinctively he sought her out. Looked for hers amongst the hundreds of eyes turned towards him. Which he pointedly ignored instead following the remaining half who stole glances towards her. 

Blue. Green. Brown. Shifted between them assessing to see what they might do. 

She was boxed into the middle of the table by Onai and Sweeting with Reyes taking up the spot across from them. A vicious hound guarding her flock ensured even the most brazen little wretch who considered interrupting would think twice - give her wrath a wide berth. 

Reyes to her credit - snarling banshee that she was - looked as deeply horrified by the pathetic silver band on her friend's finger as Sebastian felt it deserved. 

They’d transfigured it hastily from a pair of silver spectacles once they’d stumbled out of Hecat’s office the previous evening. One she kept in an odd tangle of items in her satchel and the rushed magic had already begun to tarnish its appearance. It was a wonder anyone actually believed them with how dull and thoughtless it looked sitting on her hand. 

If her smile wasn’t so tight, or her laugh a little too airy she would be executing Hecat’s ludicrous scheme to perfection. 

Sebastian swallowed around the lump in his throat and sheepishly changed course. Rerouted himself away from the group of witches throwing his bag down on the bench and slumping into a seat at the Slytherin table. Which seemed to delight some of the onlookers. Clearly humiliation was a good seasoning for eggs, he thought as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and took out his potions essay in an attempt to look busy enough no one would suspect exactly why he was sitting alone. Or worse, try and talk to him. Not that they would dare when his face looked as thunderous as the sky overhead. It didn't, however, stop him from overhearing their animated gossiping. 

‘Do you think she’s…you know?’ 

‘Obviously! Who in their right mind gets married a month before they leave school? Clearly they’re in a rush before she starts to y’know...’ one girl smirked with an exaggerated flourish over her stomach.

Sebastian shot a glare across to the gaggle of Ravenclaw’s in the year below. Who giggled even more loudly when they caught his eye, one turning pink from the tips of her ears to well past the neckline of her jumper. Sebastian on the other hand felt like someone had doused him in a bucket of water from the lake. 

If Reyes didn’t skin him for the insulting piece of jewellery she certainly would if she suspected he’d gotten her favourite flying partner up the kyte. 

Sebastian tried to focus on his potions essay. List even a single ingredient of ‘Felix Felicis’ which was proving to be impossible when behind him a brazen fourth year proclaimed and loudly he’d caught them sequestered away between the stacks of the restricted section - her body bent over a desk. Sebastian’s grip on the quill tensed as he strained himself to write the differing effects between wyrm and dragon scale on a potion - and not a very vivid description of what he apparently looked like on his knees buried between her thighs. Ink blotted on the parchment. 

Sod Hecat on ‘selling it’. Why did they need to go to such lengths when apparently every gossiping vulture was content to click their beak and do all the work for them? 

Surely Azkaban couldn’t be worse than this? 

Well, that was delusional - but if he overheard one more person comment on if her robes looked bigger he was more than likely going to do something that would get him thrown in Azkaban regardless. 

Sebastian had anticipated suspicion but he still wasn’t prepared for how much it would chafe. 

He knew if they were not at the centre of this farce, the two main players on the stage they would have jovially picked apart their performance too. She would have speculated over their sanity as she picked idly at her cauldron cake. Made some snide comment about being too eager to get his leg over. He’d bet her a galleon they’d see the proof in nine months and she would have snorted, undignified unladylike into her pumpkin juice. 

Being the subject of this speculation however was mortifying. 

Would that be next? Bringing a child into the fucking mess he’d made just to cover his own back? If the thought of dragging her into a marriage him feel ill it paled in comparison to the feeling of crippling dread that conjured. 

But would she want that one day? In a young witch's sacrifice to keep him had she truly considered all the things she was giving up in his stead. Things she may not know she even wanted until the opportunity had already been bartered and sold off for the price of his freedom. What kind of man was he to take the hope of any kind of family from someone who already had none to show for it? Take away the chance for someone to love her. 

Or maybe she never intended to give up on that particular dream. And Sebastian would be expected to play his part - the cuckolded husband. 

Work late until the candles burned down to the wick to give her lover time to retreat. Share her with one; or with many. 

Vow now to never let her go without. 

Even go as far as to raise her children as his own. Glamour their cheeks with foreign freckles he’d wish were inherited. Brand them with the Sallow name with ink on thin parchment but not their blood; their ties to him just as flimsy and performative as hers.

Her easy smile as she lathered honey onto her toast set his teeth on edge. Sebastian felt in that moment like he never really knew her at all. Head pounding Sebastian stuffed his ink pot and notes back into his bag. Abandoned his breakfast in a rush to get out of the stifling hall. Away from the whispers that he knew would also be deafening in her ears. Perhaps even more so.

‘I didn’t even know they were courting. It’s a shame he’s off the market.’

‘Here’s the thing - I don’t think they were. Clearly, he’s marrying her to do the right thing. Now that she’s trapped him with a baby.’

She caught his eye, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but it did not offset the rigid lock of her furious ticking jaw. Teeth set, clamped together as if Hecat had clamped a muzzle on a fucking dragon and then handed her chains to Sebastian. 

Shamefully, he couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze. Couldn’t even bear to face her in that moment despite knowing he was the reason she had to listen to these lies spread. He should tell her he was sorry. But instead he fled. 

Complete fic can be found on Ao3.

[bobemajses]

Two Baghdadi Jewish men near the synagogue in Kolkata, India, 1979.

Jewish migration to Kolkata is said to date back to King Solomon’s spice trade. The Baghdadi Jewish community came from Syria and Iraq during the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Shalom Ha-Cohen from Aleppo, the first registered Jew in Kolkata, docked in 1798 to become the court jeweler of the the Muslim ruler Ghāzī al-Dīn Haydar. The once thriving Jewish population, which included some of the wealthiest merchants in the city during the British Raj, is now down to 20-odd people but their architectural legacy - ornate buildings, mansions, hospitals, schools and synagogues - is testimony to the grandeur of the community.

[warblogs17282]

Going over and analyzing every scene where Vassago does something.

Because I cannot call myself a 'certified Vassago stan' without doing this.

On the first time we see Vassago in this show, the first thing he does is instantly notice when something is quite wrong with the trial, and he also chooses to speak out what he finds wrong with the trial as well, that being the fact that Stolas isn't present in a trial he is very much involved in, as Andrealphus literally just accused Blitz of 'forcing himself onto Stolas', so this scene alone already shows us that Vassago wants a fair trial for everyone, and clearly is a bit passionate about it as well considering he calls out Stolas not being present at the trial so quickly.

So Vassago already has some really positive characteristics that appear to be lacking in most of the other Goetia members present, and this is something that remains consistent throughout all the other times we see him on-screen as well.

Vassago also speaks Spanish quite frequently as well, which makes sense as Vassago's VA is Mexican-American, but I do wonder if this implies that being able to speak multiple languages is a common thing with Goetia members or not.

Andrealphus states that Stolas hasn't been informed of the trial, to which Vassago instantly takes issue with, and then immediately suggests to summon Stolas at once, because again, Vassago does believe in giving everyone a fair trial, and not summoning Stolas to him undermines that characteristic he has, and this also shows that Vassago is definitely willing to point these things out, make them into an issue and make an attempt to get them fixed, so that the person can have a 'fair trial' to him.

Andrealphus and Vassago get into a bit of a heated confrontation over this point, and in the background, you can see Vassago walk back over to his spot in the balcony, but making what is basically rolling his eyes except it's his entire face while doing so, starting to walk back off right after Andrealphus says the word 'trauma', with this scene showing us that he likely hates Andrealphus, and what I believe is our first sign that Vassago is not buying into Andrealphus' bullshit at all, but Vassago doesn't have any evidence or testimony to disprove what Andrealphus is saying.

Considering in the lesser key of solomon, it is stated that Vassago is of 'good-nature', something which Andrealphus is not, putting them at odds almost immediately, and has the power to tell of future events, which could be related to this scene a little, but it's unlikely.

The next thing that happens is Andrealphus dropping the bombshell accusation that Blitz 'plotted to have Stolas assassinated', Vassago has a quite noticeable reaction to this, while I'm not entirely sure who that 'motherfucker' was aimed to, I believe that it was aimed towards Andrealphus, considering it's pretty likely that Vassago isn't buying into Andrealphus' bullshit, as I just explained when I covered the scene before this, not to mention at this point, Andrealphus has presented zero evidence to back up his accusations at this point in time.

Vassago has definitely been caught majorly off-guard with Striker's false testimony and Blitz's sudden outburst, which is very clear just looking at Vassago's face in this scene, Vassago is definitely still processing that with what looks like some rather conflicting feelings written all over his face in this scene. The conflicting feelings of thinking Andrealphus is bullshitting while likely hating him at the same time, and the feelings that come with processing Blitz's outburst.

While I will admit, all the lights on the Goetia side of the court appear to be voting for executing Blitz prematurely, considering what I've said about Vassago thinking Andrealphus is bullshitting and him being that type of person to always want a fair trial, I'm going to assume that Vassago also voted against executing Blitz here, although that is unknown at this point in time.

Something I want to point out here is that if you go frame by frame in this scene right at the camera focuses on Vassago again, right after Striker flashes us the a clearly villain-looking facial expression, you can see Vassago move his arms and body backwards a little, just like Vassago was looking downwards for some reason, and if he was looking down, I highly suspect that he was looking at Striker.

When the shot shows us Vassago's face, you can see uncertainty written all over it, which I believe is because he suspects that Andrealphus and Striker is lying, but doesn't have any evidence or testimony to actually prove it's a lie, causing him to enter a state of uncertainty, again, completely written all over his face during this scene, as he thinks about all the conflicting thoughts he's having right now, which are probably just being very much amplified due to Satan literally announcing that he found Blitz guilty of the crimes while he thinks about it all, with him looking at Striker suggesting that is what he's going through right at that point in time.

Okay so other than Vassago being cute as hell in this scene and making me really want him, Stolas and Moxxie to all be theatre buddies together, we can see that Vassago is extremely supportive of Stolas right now, while almost everyone else near Vassago appear to be looking with indifference or a little bit of shock, but still, it shows that Vassago is quite supportive to the people he gets positive impressions from right out of the gate, with that generally being another positive characteristic that most of the Goetia don't seem to have as well, making Vassago a little bit unique inside the Goetia family as a result.

This scene during Satan's part of the song, the main thing of note during this scene is the fact that literally everyone else is harmonizing with Satan here, but Vassago is the only one who didn't at all.

He starts in this scene looking around rapidly with a face that has shock and disbelief of the situation that's happening written all over it, with the next face he makes being a face of what appears to be a mix of disbelief and a bit of disgust at the situation, as he is still processing everything that is happening at that point in time, finally, as showcased in the picture below, we can see Vassago now has a face of what looks like a mix between reluctant acceptance of what the situation has turned into, and showing quite a bit of disdain of the situation as well.

Getting back to the first thing I mentioned about this scene, what Vassago not harmonizing with Satan, which every other demon royalty did for at minimum a little bit, shows that Vassago is refusing to stand behind the clearly corrupt and unfair court system, instead opting to do what I think is called a silent protest, choosing to stick to his own morals instead of following the crowd and harmonizing with Satan, which further shows the general sense of justice Vassago appears to have, and that this also shows that Vassago is firmly on Stolas' side here, that Vassago is further choosing to support Stolas.

Finally, at the end of the song, when the chains and such start to appear around Stolas, while Satan goes on about Stolas 'paying the price', Vassago looks so scared for Stolas in this scene, which I'm guessing is because well, Stolas' punishment is literally going to be right around the corner, so it's only natural that Vassago is scared for Stolas, because, as I've shown before, Vassago has been firmly on Stolas' side the whole time, with this shot showcasing that even further.

In conclusion: In the brief time we got to see Vassago in his debut, I believe I have firmly established some positive characteristics in Vassago, with those being a general sense of justice and being supportive of the people he gets positive impressions from, with the main example being Stolas, with all of this showing that he definitely lives up to being the 'good boy' that Vivzie said he was.

While a lot about his character could change as we get to see him more and more, as of right now these are my findings.

[liberalsarecool]

This is among the most damning testimony I've ever seen.

"Everyone involved knew they were sharing lies. From Trump and Giulani's shadow diplomacy, to my missions to Ukraine and elsewhere [...] everything was for the ultimate benefit of Donald Trump and, thereby, Vladimir Putin."

"Congressman Pete Sessions, then Congressman Devin Nunes, Senator Ron Johnson, and many others understood they were pushing a false narrative. The same goes for John Solomon, Sean Hannity, and media personnel, particularly at Fox News, who used this narrative to manipulate the public ahead of the 2020 elections. Sadly, they are still doing this today as we approach the 2024 elections."

Republicans work for Putin.

[lokiangel]

Obey Me incorrect quotes #34

Lucifer- Satan, you're testifying in Thirteen's and Solomons aggravated assault case tomorrow, and Diavolo is worried about how you'll present yourself on the stand. Satan- Why? I'm fine on the stand! flashback to Testimony #1 Satan- Look, I'll make this real simple so even these idiot can understand. Satan, to the jury- HUMAN. DID. CRIME. flashback to Testimony #2 Satan- I'm sorry, could you make him stop doing that weird thing with his face? Prosecution Attorney, next to a crying Solomon- …Crying? flashback to Testimony #3 Satan- And when this is over, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna break those little fingers. Judge-Could the witness please stop threatening the stenographer?

-#33❤️-#35

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️ A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 9.4k words]

And truthfully, if you'd have let him, if the entire pure-blood community weren't watching, he would've pulled you into his arms and held you for as long as you desired. Instead, you stood rigid before him, and he motionless before you. Neither moving to touch the other. It was a unique form of torment, to have the person he wanted to hold in arm's reach, but bound never to close the gap. "I'm sorry," he said instead. There was warmth in your sadness, like a gleam of sunshine in rain. "I know."

In which, with the curse's effects destroying your relationship together, Ominis attends the trial of his best friend.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant, comas, coarse language, Wizengamot, Learning Confringo, banter, sad pining.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

7. The Trial

Ominis knew, when he got the owl post, he would not be the same person entering the courtroom as he would be when leaving it.

On behalf of Minister for Magic Faris Spavin and the Winzengamot of Great Britain and Ireland, Senior Undersecretary Carsten Bristlecone requests the presence of Ominis Aloysius Gaunt, of Little Hangleton, for the trial of Sebastian Albert Sallow on the 7th August 1891, to give testimony on the events of the murder of Solomon Sallow.

He slid his thumb over it again, just to be sure of its contents, but there was no denying it. The trial was here, and Ominis was required to be present. In fact, he imagined many of his classmates would be there to give their own indication as to Sebastian's character. Missy, for example.

And you.

The thought fractured him as he wordlessly handed the scroll to his mother. It must've also been written in English alphabet, for his mother scoffed almost instantly.

"The boy was a menace. We'll have our solicitors prepare you a statement."

"Am I not supposed to prepare my own?"

"No. Ours will ensure you had no responsibility in these wretched events."

After so long in this household, such a thing shouldn't have shocked him, but of course it did. "You want me to deny everything?"

"Unfortunately you cannot deny your involvement in this scandal. You and he were friends at school, I know." Disdain dripped from her. "But we can at least mitigate the disgrace this will bring upon the family."

The disgrace. These people he was unfortunate enough to call family were so mighty in their disposition, so highbrow, that their idea of disgrace contrasted entirely with his own. Disgrace, to him, came that next day when his father handed him a small roll of parchment – the prepared testimony to recite to the Wizengamot. He skimmed over it, first displeased, then practically volcanic, about how far he was to distance himself from Sebastian and his actions.

Sebastian Sallow was a friend of convenience, and naught else, read the closing statement. He is a blight in my life.

"Say it line-for-line, boy," his father muttered, reading Ominis' furious expression. "Any deviation will cost us, and anything that costs us, costs you."

Life at Gaunt manor was all a chessboard on which to move the pieces, a political dance of what to say, when to say it, if to say anything at all. Even something as simple as dinner was a strategic affair. When the entire family gathered together, a rarity now that his siblings were older and preferred their own company, Ominis was an unwitting player on the board – he'd learnt very early on not to voice opinions too radical. His father didn't like anyone straying too far off the beaten path.

Or, in the case of a dinner during the summer after his fourth year, the dark one.

"Obliviated a Muggle today," his second-eldest brother, Grimsley, was saying in Parseltongue. Supposedly he and Ominis looked most alike – swept back wheat-brown hair and permanently disdained expressions, although Ominis suspected Grimsley's was deliberate. "No one saw me. So funny – their faces turn blank. They look so helpless. Might've taken off too many memories of this one. Didn't even remember her own name."

"And you weren't caught?" asked his eldest sister, Raven. "Right fool, you could've been clapped in Ministry chains!"

"They all agree we're better than the mud. Just won't say it aloud." He sipped noisily at his goblet. "Cowards."

The house-elf, Gobble, lifted a tray to Ominis' side, drawing his attentions away. "More buttered peas, master?"

"Please," and Gobble waved a hand. The peas rolled onto his plate like strings of pearl – the dinner of rosemary-stuffed hen tartlet and potatoes glazed in honey and lard smelt divine, and yet he desperately wished he was at Feldcroft with Sebastian and Anne. It didn't matter that there were creature comforts here: he didn't have to wash his own clothes, and the house was always the perfect temperature. Nor did it matter that Sebastian fancied himself a great cook, though he burnt often his stews and overwatered the broths. The company was different there. Dinners were full of laughter and memories, and even Solomon didn't bother him like his brothers and sisters did.

Just a few more days. He could endure a few more days, and then he could leave until next summer.

His second sister Lenore had a booming laugh. "You see that Gertie Pendragon made it into the Wizengamot? Disgusting blood traitor, thinks she can order us around."

"Wretched witch always had it out for us. Lives in Hogsmeade, don't she?" Grimsley let out a sinister laugh. "Maybe we should pay her a visit."

"You'll do no such thing," Marvolo commanded. "You wouldn't get away with this one. Magical Law Enforcement is full of half-breeds – and worse, Mudbloods."

"Disgusting Mudbloods." Grimsley banged his fork against his plate – the sound rang out. "No longer affiliating with that dirt, brother?"

Ominis didn't realise Grimsley was addressing him until the table went silent, and his father coughed into his napkin. "Answer him, Ominis."

Mudblood. You. His heart lurched suddenly, but he sliced into his tartlet, trying to appear nonchalant. "No, I'm not," he said in English. True – he'd not spoken to you since the winter.

"I never understood why you would deign to spend time with a Mudblood in the first place," murmured his second-eldest sister, Lenore, opposite. "Using him for something, were you?"

"Her," corrected his father.

"Even worse. A silly Mudblood girl! You ought to be grateful the Malfoys didn't think you were whoring yourself with that filth."

That really dug under his skin, and he clenched his knife desperately. Play their game. He'd done this for years and years and yet this was the moment his willpower was tested.

Something clattered – a brief reprieve from answering. Thimble, his mother's house-elf, let out a little yelp. There was a slap, then, "Stupid creature!" his mother growled. "If you cannot hold a simple tray, what purpose do you serve?"

"T-Thimble is sorry, mistress—"

"I don't want your pathetic apologies. Clean this mess up and get out."

As Grimsley and Lenore sniggered, Thimble fell to her knees to clean, then left, taking the tray. Ominis heard it banging against her head all down the hallway.

"Well, Ominis?" asked Raven. "Why you and the Mudblood? There must be a reason."

He scrambled to think, but as the pause dragged, he eventually blurted the first thing that came to mind. "She happened to be going to the same classes as me most of the time. She— was my eyes."

Laughter burst from the table at once, and heat seared through him. If death came to take him at that moment, he would've welcomed it.

"Ooooo, Mudblood, be my eyes!" cried Grimsley, switching back to Parseltongue. "Ooooo, Mudblood filth, what's going on?"

"What's the point of having a wand?" Lenore spat. "You have magic, stupid!"

"Because," he hissed in deliberate English, the lie bubbling forth, "it's difficult to identify ingredients on a table or find the right passage in a textbook—"

"Enough," his father snapped. The siblings went quiet. "I want to hear no more of this."

"Can't we bring her here, Father?" whined Grimsley. "Give her a little taste of our superior magic?"

Unbridled terror flashed in Ominis' chest.

"Oh yeah," sniggered Lenore. "Bet I could make her piss herself."

"Bet I could make her vomit."

"You are all foolish," Marvolo barked, and his brother and sister went silent. "If you think the Wizengamot is protective of Mudbloods, you've got another thing coming with that damn school."

His father dismissed the conversation again, and the rest of the dinner passed without interest. Ominis tried to reel in his emotions, but it was near impossible. The Cruciatus Curse incident certainly wasn't the last time he'd known his siblings to take glee in causing Muggles pain – and it frightened him to think you might be next.

Only one thing gave him some measure of peace. Hogwarts. It was safe for you. A fortress. As long as you were there, you were okay.

"Ominis," and Marvolo's voice cracked through his thoughts. "Come. I want to show you something."

He thought about declining. The dinner wasn't over – but being amongst his horrid brothers and sisters, boasting about ruining Muggle lives, mocking you, was better than being alone a single moment with Marvolo. He conjured too many memories of that horrid cellar. But Marvolo's chair scraped back, and he was at the door before Ominis even moved, brooking no discussion or debate. Reluctantly Ominis followed him down the hallway to Marvolo's study.

"What do you want?"

Marvolo shut the door behind him. "I thought it best to remind you who we are, why we are."

There was something rustling, a collar popping, the rapid scritch of a chain being rubbed against buttons.

"Open your hand."

Something hard landed in Ominis' palm. A locket of some sort, and weighty – gold. He traced the S on the front, curled like a serpent. Simple jewellery, yet it spat shivers down Ominis' spine. Merely holding it made him uneasy, like teetering close to a cliff edge.

"A necklace," he said, masking his disquiet.

"Not just any necklace," said Marvolo. "This locket was worn by Salazar Slytherin himself. Only a Parselmouth can open it." He switched to the language so easily. "Open."

The locket bloomed in Ominis' hand, sending needles of magic through his skin. His disquiet turned acidic.

"It grants heightened ability to use Dark Magic. My power is unfathomable when I wear it."

"Is that so?" Ominis rasped, resisting the urge to fling it away.

Marvolo mistook his aloofness for interest, and chuckled softly as he took the locket back, replacing it over his heart under his waistcoat. "I'm afraid it only passes to the eldest male, so this has been mine since I was seventeen. Now..."

He swerved to his desk then. A key clicked, a drawer scraped. The next object he placed in Ominis' hand was a velvet box. Ominis opened the lid and felt a hard, engraved stone attached to a ring. If the locket brought him unease, the ring pricked like a thousand whetted needles on bruised flesh.

"It's very— nice," he managed to say through gritted teeth.

"You mock it," said Marvolo, "but that is one of our rarest possessions. Can you feel the coat of arms?"

"I can feel an engraving, yes, but I do not know what it is."

"It's for the Peverells, another ancient and powerful wizarding line. I had the stone fashioned into a ring, a ceremonial piece."

That couldn't be true. If it was only ceremonial, why did it raise all the hairs on his back? Why did it radiate something awful and strange? Why did he feel as if the essence of life was trapped within, squirming to break free?

Again he veiled his alarm, this time with a scoff. "What use does it have, then, if only to look pretty on a finger?"

"You misunderstand, little brother," said Marvolo, "Slytherin's locket and the Peverell ring are proof of our connection to two of the most ancient and powerful wizarding bloodlines in history. It is proof of your connection. You are but one branch of our tree. This," he spoke frenetically, "is your legacy."

He took the ring back, and Ominis was grateful. He had the sudden urge to wash his hands.

"Do not forget who we are, what we represent, what our ancestors before us sought to uphold." Reverence oozed from him. "You've learnt your lesson with the Mudblood girl, and now you will understand the history behind it: that her ancestors murdered our kind. They forced us into hiding, when they feared our power. They would try to kill us again, if they knew."

He couldn't imagine that though. You always talked so warmly of your family, and they certainly hadn't disowned you for what you discovered you could do, at eleven years old. He couldn't reconcile the image – you, bouncy and joyous – with Marvolo's cold warnings.

Your ancestors had discriminated against magical kind, that much was certain, but his ancestor was Salazar Slytherin. The scales were practically even.

"There are already those who would turn their back on their own. I'm surprised people like the Pendragons and the Weasleys still have pure blood, for all their cluck about loving thy Muggle neighbour." He gripped Ominis' shoulder. "They are blood traitors, Ominis. They are a disgrace. You, on the other hand, are a Gaunt. And you do not bow to the whims of those weaker than you."

Blood traitor. Peregrine Malfoy had said that to him at your bedside before they'd broken up for summer, and now the night before the trial, at the Gaunt's London residence, he was turning the word in his head, wondering what it would be like to embrace it in earnest. A traitor to his pure blood, to his family, his ancestors, to Slytherin.

Why was it a disgrace to long for the companionship of a Muggle-born? For you?

Your peals of laughter filled his head again, and he thrust the pillow over his ears, hoping to drown it out. You didn't sound like that anymore. That part of you was gone – a nostalgic lie, conjured by his fragile, pathetic heart to offer him some measure of kindness.

Still, when he slumbered, he dreamt of you.

The trial began that next day with the usual opening fanfare. Faris Spavin's stentorian voice, pompous in its highest notes, echoed in the high-ceilinged courtroom tiered like a coliseum. Somewhere in here, watching with equal anticipation, were his classmates, like Garreth and Leander, like Imelda and Missy. Like you.

Even if he wanted to talk to you, he wouldn't. Not squeezed between his parents as he was, their moods drawn and irritated.

"Bring in Sebastian Sallow!"

Shackled in chains and guarded by two stoic Aurors, Sebastian was greeted by a humdrum of whispers. It was impossible to identify him between the din, and Ominis could only hope he hadn't been treated too badly, waiting for today.

"We'll start with the obvious question," called Spavin, to open the interrogation. "Mr Sallow, did you, knowingly and willingly, commit the Killing Curse on your uncle at approximately 9:22pm on the 4th of January, 1891?"

Sebastian hesitated. This was a moment that would define his guilt.

"Yes, I did."

Ominis shuddered. His voice – it had been stripped bare.

"Then what more is there to this trial?" scoffed Carsten Bristlecone, sitting to Spavin's right. "The boy admits it! Really, that we have dragged our heels for so long on this case—"

"Let's not be too hasty, Senior Undersecretary," said another terrifying voice – Gertie Pendragon. "We have yet to hear his side of the story or what any of the involved parties have to say."

So the interrogation continued. Ominis was motionless and aloof – he had to be, knowing scrutiny was coming his way. There were many wizarding families in attendance today – Malfoys, Blacks, Lestranges, Notts, all of whom with vetted interest in whether Sebastian would be condemned or not.

If he could commit to the Dark Arts, there was precedent for them to commit as well.

"Thank you, Mr Sallow," Spavin said, when the interrogation was complete. "Let's call the first witness!"

Your name rang out then, and Ominis stiffened. So soon? Your steps pattered like spitting rain to the seat in the centre of the courtroom, and he studied it, trying to pick apart your mood, your state of mind, your health. When he could sense nothing, his awareness shifted to his parents – breath whistled from their noses, indignant. Their minds were already made up; they didn't care what a Muggle-born had to say.

"H-Hello, Minister and the Wizengamot Court." He could hear the after-effects of the curse still wallowing in your voice, cracked like bone porcelain. It was distracting even as you recalled your friendship with Sebastian, your years together, and the night he used the relic.

"You were cursed, correct?" Spavin asked.

"Yes, sir."

"A... torture curse?"

"Y-Yes."

"Shame," his mother muttered. "Would've been better with one less Mudblood to think about."

Ominis had to physically grip his thighs – feel the pain of his nails – to stop lashing out.

Still, he noticed you were... relentlessly positive. You refused to say more than a disappointed word about Sebastian, you focused only on his good qualities, you even offered forgiveness for your cursing. Hearing you so poised, after how you'd been in the infirmary, injected hope directly into Ominis' veins.

"Any last words you wish to add?" asked Spavin.

You drew yourself up. "Sebastian Sallow has a good heart, and despite what happened, I-I believe in that goodness."

It was all you needed to say. You melted back into the courtroom then, and Ominis felt gratified – that you could be cursed and shamed and destroyed in ways he couldn't imagine, and still find something noble to say. You found it in you to help.

You were always framed by positivity, though. Uncompromisingly. It didn't matter what had happened, how or why, you simply looked towards the light and let it guide you.

"In trouble already, Ominis? Even I didn't beat that record."

After your first Charms class together, when you sent his bag to the ceiling with an erratic cast of Wingardium Leviosa, Professor Ronen asked Ominis to stay behind a moment – with you.

Ominis scowled as Sebastian nudged him. "I'm not in trouble," he said. "I'm certain there's been a misunderstanding. It's just a Muggle-born being... a Muggle-born."

Now such callous use of your blood-status makes him wince. It may have even made Sebastian wince, because he said, "You can't blame her for that. First day and all."

Ominis didn't respond, and when Sebastian left, promising to see one another next class, Ominis headed to you and Ronen, hands clutched tightly around his satchel. You were shy and restless – bouncing between your feet, rubbing your hands together, hair swishing. That saccharine scent, like a flower blooming. Professor Ronen gave a magnanimous laugh.

"Neither of you are in trouble," he opened. "But I thought we should clear the air after the unfortunate incident earlier."

"I-I really am sorry," you peddled at once – and not for the first time. Ominis had lost count after your sixth apology. "I— I didn't mean to make your bag fly, honest—"

"It's fine."

"— and I must've mistook you saying this end of my wand was the right end, but now that the handle has been marked with chalk—"

"Now, now, slow down!" Ronen laughed. "I didn't keep you back to ask you to apologise to Master Gaunt, either. You see, I placed you two together quite deliberately."

So this unique form of torture, bottled into a naïve Muggle-born girl, was pre-ordained? Ominis resisted the urge to cringe.

"You are new to the magical world," he said to you, then to him, "and you are intimately acquainted with it! I arranged the seats in such a way in hopes that you will learn from one another, share your knowledge, and broaden your horizons."

He wasn't sure what there was to learn from you. Certainly you had a lot to learn from him, though. Like how to hold a wand.

You, it seemed, had the same thought. "I'm not sure I have anything to teach Ominis, Mister— erm, I mean, Professor."

"But of course you do! Everyone does. You just might not see what it is yet. Pardon the turn of phrasing, Master Gaunt." He chuckled to himself. "Give it time. I think you will both benefit from one another greatly. Now, I've kept you for too long, don't want you to be late for your next class. Go now, and don't forget to have fun! That is the most important part of education."

Herbology was next. He hitched his bag and turned, pointing his wand outwards to find the stairs.

"Wait, Ominis!"

He halted at the door's threshold, schooling his churlishness. You caught up to him unfolding the parchment map.

"Are you going to, erm, Gardening next?"

"Herbology," he corrected, "and yes."

"Brilliant! Let me come with you! Please? So I can make it up to you? Promise my map-reading is much better than my wand-swishing. I won't levitate your bag this time. Sorry again."

"It's fine."

"I mean, unless, you know, your wand, erm, points you in the right direction? I don't know how it works."

Truthfully he wasn't entirely sure either. "It uses some sort of echolocation." At your unsure pause, he sighed. "It's... like using sound to detect where objects are."

"Oh! Like a dolphin?"

"... What?"

"Like a dolphin! That's how they know where to swim."

"... Right." There was no point asking you to elaborate. "Yes, then. Like a dolphin."

"Wow, that's really cool! So you already know the way?"

Only he realised he, in fact, did not. He'd been relying heavily on Sebastian and Anne – and his classmates in general – to steer him along the right course from place to place. They had maps, but such visual information was difficult to translate into braille, and Ominis didn't want the fuss of it. His wand only showed him his surroundings, but it couldn't tell him the way to places he'd never been.

That meant, after everything, he had to rely on you.

"No," he said through a clenched jaw. "No, I don't know the way."

"Don't worry! I can figure this out! Oh." You laughed sheepishly. "I made a thumbs-up but then I remembered you can't see it. Sorry. Down the stairs!"

With you leading the charge, he wouldn't be surprised if his bones were discovered in some lost hallway. Despite the rocky start, you were chatty and marched with purpose, like you were determined to give this Hogwarts place a true go. He trailed behind you, sullen.

"Now, do we go along this hallway? Or keep going down the stairs?"

"It doesn't matter. The Defence Against the Dark Arts stairwell leads to the same place." When you eventually squeaked in agreement, his brow tightened. "I thought you said you could read a map?"

"I mean, I can read a good ol' regular map. Like a street map. My papa taught me how on all our trips to Wales. But this school is fifteen puzzle."

What in Merlin's name is fifteen puzzle?

"Doesn't the map have a guide?" He tapped the parchment with his wand. "Show us the way to Herbology."

"Oh!" Something flitted by his ear. "A little gold line flew out!"

"Follow it then, quickly."

You hurried forwards, and he after you. You went down the stairs, into a courtyard, along some hallways... across a stone bridge? It was windy out, a breeze casting across the lake that teased out strands of his hair.

"This is the definitely the right way?" he called after you.

You stopped. "I mean, I lost track of the little gold thing, but I'm almost certain it went this way."

"You lost it? Why didn't you just ask the map again?"

"You can do that?"

"Of course you can!"

He realised he'd been too harsh when you made a hurt, flinching noise. "I-I'm sorry. Really. I-I thought it was a one-and-done sort of magical spell..."

Not a spell, an enchantment. But how were you to know that? How were you to know any of this? He rubbed his temple. Muggle-born. He was being unfair, and should offer you grace.

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... snap. We're just going to be so late to our second class on the first day." He didn't want a reputation as a rapscallion.

"Should I use the spell again?" you asked timidly, which made guilt bury beneath his collarbone.

"Where are we?"

"On the bridge leading to the Great Hall."

That bridge? Central Hall was back the other way! "No, I think we can go from here. Just— give me the map."

You handed it over, no questions asked.

"If the tracking enchantment fades, you need only ask it again. Tap your wand on the parchment and—"

But a particularly playful gust of wind swooped low for them then, and he was so unprepared for it, more focused on keeping hold on his wand and his bag, more focused on explaining how the enchanted map worked, that the parchment simply slipped from his fingers, buoyed into the sky.

"No!" he cried.

But then.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The spell made that hssssh noise he was now too familiar with. He stiffened.

"I-I did it!" You were so high-pitched in your elation. "I— I got it!"

"Then—" He was shocked you managed to do it so fast, so expertly, after only one class. "Then bring it back down, quickly."

And it landed in his waiting palm.

His shock moulded into clarity. He was so certain your magic was— not weaker, that wasn't the right word, but... different, at the very least. His parents and brothers and sisters made it sound like Muggle-born magic was lesser, pure-blood magic superior. They said it with so much conviction, after all, how could he believe otherwise? Then Aunt Noctua had taken all those ideas and deconstructed them over the years to products of simple misunderstanding and prejudice. In the end, he'd resolved to wait and see what the truth was, wait until he met a real Muggle-born who could show him.

Now the proof was nestled safely in his hands.

"Tuck it away, quick!" you said anxiously. "We'll be right poked up if it flies away again!"

Poked up. He slid it into his bag, the realisation burdening him. He had every opportunity to call the map back himself – but he'd frozen. You, on the other hand, acted immediately and executed the Levitation charm to perfection. If your magic was lesser, how could you have done it so well?

"That was close. Maybe we should wait until we're inside before we do anything?"

"No," he said gruffly, trying to reconcile what just happened into his bank of thoughts. "No. I said I knew the way from here." He turned back towards the door, sticking out his wand. "Let's go."

"But we walked all this way!"

"Whose fault is that?"

"... Fair point."

You both did, eventually, make it to Herbology – ten minutes late. Luckily Professor Garlick had been your guide before you'd started at Hogwarts, identical to you in many ways, a Muggle-born Hufflepuff raised in London. She understood the plight about getting terribly lost in this vast and strange castle.

"Ominis was really helpful, Professor Garlick, and I would've been even later without him, so if you want to blame anyone—"

"I'll not be blaming anyone today!" Garlick trilled. "You are new here, both of you, and lateness is to be expected. It sounds like you had quite the adventure, in fact, and I commend you for helping one another! That builds the foundations of great comradery."

Ominis was assigned a seat next to Sebastian for this class, who was sniggering as he sat down.

"She could talk for England. You two bond during your adventure?"

Bond seemed too strong a word. "We're acquaintances, really."

Though it was nice how you sang his praises so easily – actually, you were quite a nice person overall, even if you were terribly naïve. Perhaps, then, there was truth to Ronen's words: he did have something to learn from you. Whether that was about Muggle-borns and the Muggle world, or perhaps simply patience and compassion, he would yet discover... and he was rather intrigued to find out.

After Herbology you had Transfiguration, and he caught up to you outside the greenhouse, listening to you unfold the map and mumble for guidance once more.

"Hello," he said, catching your attention. "Do you want to go with my friend Sebastian and I?"

And your smile was distinct.

He missed that smile. He couldn't see it, of course, but always it came with your voice, propelled with an unmatched sense of joy and resilience. He missed the thought of your lips, curled upwards in ebullience, in mischief.

Terribly he was thinking about your lips as Spavin called up others. Garreth, who gave testimony on Sebastian's general character. Professors Hecat and Weasley as well, who thought Sebastian to be wayward and needing proper adult guidance, but not terrible enough to warrant Azkaban. Even some of the Feldcroft villagers, who had more mixed reactions to Solomon's death. Peregrine Malfoy also gave testimony – a damning one, naturally, though he made no mention about Sebastian's threats.

"We call to the stand," Spavin boomed, "Anne Sallow!"

Silence. She wouldn't appear today. A very telling fact that worked against Sebastian's favour. Even under the noise, Ominis could swear he heard him crying.

Recess was called then. Ominis found himself leaning back against the bench, eyes closed. You had given a sparkling testimony in his favour, yes, but was it enough? When Sebastian himself had admitted what he'd done?

"Let's take a turn of the hall," said his mother suddenly, standing. "We ought to appear contrite to the other pure-blood families."

He'd about stepped down from the seats when someone came up to him from behind.

"Excuse me."

Fear shot through him, churning through his general anxiety like a tornado.

You.

No, no, no. He hadn't spoken to you in months. Hadn't spoken to you since you confessed the truth about the Amortentia – that you found him attractive, and upsetting. Hadn't spoken to you since you revealed that you saw him in your cursed nightmares, every day, for weeks, torturing you, laughing at you, relishing your pain and suffering. He'd wanted to give you space – it was what you asked for, what you deserved after your ordeal.

So why did you speak to him now?

He turned at the same time as his parents did, and there you were before him, close enough to smell your signature strawberry laces, sweet and lovely and heart-racing. He schooled his face into something neutral, but panic was laying waste to him already. Go, please. Apologise for speaking to the wrong person, and go.

But you cleared your throat.

"You must be Mr and Mrs Gaunt."

Up close, you sounded... healthier, more like yourself. Yet he wished you weren't here. Ominis felt his father go rigid as he recognised you.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly. His tone bit at Ominis' temper.

"I... was wondering if I could speak with Ominis, please. I want to ask him about the trial proceedings."

His mother's pitch rendered a harsh sneer. "You came with Professor Hecat, didn't you? Ask her your questions."

He bared his teeth in a grimace, a very clear, please stop grimace. You were meant to fear these people he'd told you about. You were meant to be humbled by the curse, afraid to speak to him... and yet you barrelled on, undeterred.

"Please, Mrs Gaunt. I know we don't talk anymore, but Ominis is— is so knowledgeable. You must have taught him so well." You poured on admiration like chocolate sauce on ice cream. "I just get so frazzled and confused by all these wizard terms. I can't keep it all straight, magic and Muggle. Like chalk and cheese."

Chalk and cheese? His grimace deepened.

"Ominis is... he's easily the smartest person here," you continued. "I'm just so, erm, helpless trying to follow what's going on. Professor Hecat suggested I ask someone my age. And my friend, too— you know, the Hero of Hogwarts? She recommended I talk to him."

His father wasn't stirred. "Come, Ominis—"

"No," said his mother quickly. He could hear her cogs turning. "No, help the poor girl. It would be... unkind to leave her in such state. We wouldn't want to be unkind, would we?"

They didn't want to look unkind, was the truth of her words – and you knew it. Image was everything, and the Gaunts had some level of charitability to live up to, especially in the presence of so many other wizarding families, families who didn't necessarily subscribe to the same supremacist beliefs. Even for those they thought didn't deserve it – the frazzled, confused Muggle-borns.

Your acting was mad. Though blind, Ominis could see straight through your parchment-thin façade. It was an absurd idea that your sweet-talking actually worked.

Then again, sweet had always been your forte.

"You're right, of course, Mother," Ominis replied stiffly. "I won't be long."

He followed your footsteps, careful to remain disinterested, to keep space between you, to one of the empty seating wings. The chatter from the benches was loud enough to disguise your conversation.

He turned to you, quelling his frantic expression. "Gibby, are you insane?"

"I... I wanted to talk to you."

It should've filled him with delight to hear you say that, but it only filled him with dread.

"Here? Now?"

"I know it's been a while since we talked..."

"It's not that," he said, frustrated. "Don't you remember why I said horrible things to you in fourth year? You are risking becoming a target for my parents."

Up reared your indignity. "I don't care about them. They think I'm stupid. That's good."

It wasn't good. They knew your face, your voice – and that you sought him for wisdom and guidance after he claimed to have broken your friendship. All things they could use against him, against you.

He ran a hand over his combed hair, realising there was nothing he could say to make you regret it. After all, you were right – his parents gobbled up the stupid Muggle-born act.

"It was clever, but they won't be fooled every time."

"Just for now is good enough."

"You seem... better, since we last spoke." He spoke as if tiptoeing over eggshells. "Are you still at Hogwarts?"

"No, I've been back home for a week. The first month was... the most difficult, but Madam Blainey has been helping me separate the curse and— and reality. And Professor Hecat suggested I put some of my— help, to use."

"Did you... have a question about the trial, then?"

"No, I... just wanted to give you some comfort."

The trial was wearing him down to grit, it was true, and he longed for companionship, for any friendly voice, at his side. Just not yours. Because he wasn't stupid enough to believe you wanted to talk to him now, after the curse. His yearning fluttered awake, an unwelcome reminder of what he truly wanted deep inside.

Foolish, traitorous heart.

"You shouldn't have," he said hoarsely.

"Of course I should. All the mean pure-bloods are here, and I know that mustn't be nice. Peregrine Malfoy looks really smug for someone in a ridiculous hat. You know he's wearing a fedora? And your parents... I can see why you went to Feldcroft every summer."

He huffed a brief laugh at that. "What you said to the court... it was good."

"Think so? I was practicing really hard in front of my bedroom mirror. I just— I really hope they don't send him to Azkaban." A shudder rattled through you. "Missy has yet to speak. And you."

The parchment, tucked in his pocket, seemed to burn a hole. He almost broke then and there, confessed his parents were forcing him to denounce his best friend.

But he bit his tongue. "You really don't want to convict him? Even after... what he did to you?"

"He did the wrong thing, to me and Mr Sallow," and some of that tenacious, stubborn loyalty was on display, "but... I think the punishment is unjustly cruel. He never meant to hurt me at least, and I believe him. He fixed that mistake."

When Ominis didn't reply, muddling on what to think, you spoke quietly.

"I... miss us."

His heart gave another treacherous leap.

"I... I thought..."

"I miss— what we had. Before. Before everything."

It stung for some reason.

"The memories are less bad, now that I've spent some time away. But they're there." An audible swallow. "I just... miss you."

And truthfully, if you'd have let him, if the entire pure-blood community weren't watching, he would've pulled you into his arms and held you for as long as you desired.

Instead, you stood rigid before him, and he motionless before you. Neither moving to touch the other. It was a unique form of torment, to have the person he wanted to hold in arm's reach, but bound never to close the gap.

"I'm sorry," he said instead.

There was warmth in your sadness, like a gleam of sunshine in rain.

"I know."

You couldn't handle much more than that. He traipsed back to his parents, who were snivelling and sneering about Mudbloods under their breath.

"I cannot believe you would ever associate with that filth, boy," his father muttered as they sat back down. "Are Muggle spawn really so dim-witted?"

Ominis clenched his jaw. You had proven from first year to now, time and time again, that though you were naïve and silly, you were never incompetent.

"Why do you think I broke off our companionship?" he lied.

But his mother scoffed. "It sounded like only one of you broke it off."

With the words came another lurch of terror, but the trial restarted again, leaving the hint of a threat in the air. When Missy was called to testify, Ominis let himself exhale – she, of everyone, was going to have the most sway with the Wizengamot, as the key player against Ranrok's defeat. She, of everyone, would have the most power to turn the trial in their favour.

"So you don't believe," Spavin was asking, "that sending Mr Sallow to Azkaban is a good idea?"

"No," she said, no hesitation. "Azkaban is a punishment, not a deterrent. It will not steer him on the path of good. Look at Anne Thisbe – look at what it being convicted so young did to her."

"Who is Anne Thisbe?"

Another Senior Undersecretary, Gwydion Thornhill, to Spavin's left, rattled off details. "Sir, she refers to the trial of Richard Jackdaw, who went missing in the 1793. Anne Thisbe was accused of his murder. Jackdaw's ghost recently returned to acquit Anne of her crime."

"I see. But then, the accused was innocent, yes?" Spavin asked Missy. "Mr Sallow is not."

"I do not deny Sebastian's actions," said Missy. "But to sentence him to imprisonment is to sentence him to years of torture, which is damaging to his health and wellbeing. It will ruin him, like it ruined Thisbe."

"You know this?"

"I met her."

The court rumbled. Ominis stiffened.

"In Azkaban?" someone questioned.

"Yes," said Missy. "I travelled there with Auror Helen Thistlewood. I was chasing after—" an untimely pause, "— after a lead on the goblins. It inadvertently led me to solving Richard Jackdaw's murder, and helped me follow the lead that Ranrok would, eventually, attack Hogwarts via the caverns below the school."

Goodness, Missy had been busy. He didn't even know this.

"I've seen what it does to people. It is a cruel, cruel place. You cannot seriously suggest he will find any sort of remorse in there." She rose from her chair, projecting that unerring quality of leadership he could note in rare few people. "When Fig died to save everyone, he gave me this warning: darkness surrounds my past, but I must not let it define my future. These words can easily be applied to Sebastian, to a sixteen-year-old boy who was drawn into the Dark Arts when no one else sought to support him. He doesn't need Azkaban, he needs help."

Spavin cleared his throat. "Thank you, you may return to your seat. Finally, I would like to call Ominis Gaunt to testify."

Ominis became lightning-aware of the eyes like daggers poised at him. Aware of the parchment, flaring in his pocket. His father seized his arm when he stood.

"Remember your duty, boy."

Ominis pulled out his wand to make his way down to the lone chair. From below, the hall echoed – each movement, mutter and puff of breath was like a tree branch, reaching downwards into his space.

"State your name and residency for the record?" called Spavin.

Read the statements. Be neutral. Never impress your involvement.

Distance yourself from Sebastian Sallow.

"Ominis Aloysius Gaunt, of Little Hangleton."

"You met the accused at Hogwarts, correct?"

The accused. Like Sebastian wasn't even a person. "No. At a party, at Malfoy Manor. Him and Anne alike."

"Did this solidify your friendship?"

"Yes."

Then came more questions. What was he like in his formative years? Why Sebastian, of all people? Did Ominis notice his draw to the Dark Arts?

"You did?" Spavin's chair croaked. "Why did you not report it to your teachers?"

His solicitor had prepared him for this. "I did not think he would take it so far. The Dark Arts is an intensely personal choice. Sebastian's choices was not my business."

Of course it was his business. Of course this statement was written for him. What did you think right now, with this clearly rehearsed nonsense?

"Rather ironic coming from you, isn't it?" called Pendragon. "The House of Gaunt is quite infamous for its... shall we say, taste, for the Dark Arts. You are Slytherin's descendant, after all. How do we know you didn't encourage him?"

No wonder his family loathed her. She didn't hide behind propriety.

"My family's tastes are irrelevant," he said smoothly. Another statement. "I did not commit the Killing Curse. Sebastian was capable of making that decision himself."

"Can you describe the events of the murder?"

He did in the most clinical way possible, forgoing the emotions, the terror when the Inferi appeared, when Solomon was murdered, when you were caught in the aftermath.

"So after everything you admit no fault of your own in these turn of events?" Pendragon scoffed. "Typical Gaunt bluster, that's what this is, and you, Master Gaunt... you are an enabler."

Ominis stilled.

"No, you may not have cast the curse yourself. No, you may not have killed or hurt anyone. But you were complicit, make no mistake. You had many opportunities, again and again, to stop him. You didn't."

Enabler, complicit. There was no statement prepared for that.

"It's— not that simple—"

"I think it is."

"Minister," warned Spavin.

"Apologies, sir," she said coolly. "Only an observation."

Ominis' fingers glided over the parchment. The final statement was there, ready to be said to wash his hands of this mess. A friend of convenience. A blight.

But he couldn't speak. Pendragon was right. He had enabled him, had let his oldest friend slip into bewitching arms of Dark Magic – and though he couldn't entirely shoulder the blame, as Sebastian was independent, wild and able to decide his own fate, he certainly could do to burden some of it. Did Ominis want to condemn his oldest, closest friend? To know that he would read these false words and turn his back on him, when Sebastian would have followed him to hell?

Things would never be the same between the two of them. That trust was gone.

But Ominis did care for him, and always would.

"The Dark Arts are notoriously alluring. We have all felt its potency, one time or another. More than most people, I would know, and it is clear Sebastian was drawn to it through desperation and grief. You are correct, Minister Pendragon: if I am reason to his action, then I failed him as much as he failed me. But what my friend said is also correct: Azkaban will not absolve him of his crimes. He needs a steadying hand to guide him from the darkness. One that can offer him a chance, better than I ever could.

"Sebastian has made mistakes – I was the first to call him out on it, and I always will be. But that does not discount all the good he has done, and will no doubt continue to do. Without him, Hogwarts would not stand today. We would not stand – Ranrok would've succeeded. Without him, I would not be the same man. He showed me friendship, he showed me the goodness of the world. If given the chance of forgiveness, and an opportunity to right his wrongs, he could be great, and he could contribute his steadfast mind, unerring kindness, and passion."

He is a blight in my life.

The last line beheld him.

"He is a light in my life." Then, with a smile, "Symbolically, of course."

He had no idea what Sebastian thought, whether he believed him. There was no way to tell, not when his friend was seated so far away. He heard no noise, no sound.

There was a short pause, then Spavin cleared his throat.

"Thank you, that will be all. You may return to your seat."

The trial rounded to a close after that. Ominis went back with his head high. He knew he was in trouble – beyond trouble – but didn't care. His father was predictably enraged and cold all at once, like fire and ice, when Ominis took his seat.

"Why did you completely ignore the speech?"

Ominis sat straight. "He does not deserve condemnation."

"Condemnation? He killed a man," his mother muttered, fury a whispering maelstrom. "You have solidified our reputation as—"

"As people who will offer mercy to those who deserve it," he snapped back. He'd never talked back to his mother, and the sensation of fear that battled against his pride was unwanted. "Have some damn compassion, for once."

That would've earnt him worse than a cuffing. Here, it only added roiling displeasure, and the threatening promise to satisfy that displeasure later, in private.

The Wizengamot's recess to deliberate didn't last long, and that either was a great thing, or a very, very bad thing. Ominis squeezed his hands together as Spavin took back to the lectern.

"The Wizengamot has come to a unanimous agreement," he rang, "that Sebastian Albert Sallow is guilty of the murder of Solomon Sallow, and will face a sentence in Azkaban—"

"No!" yelled Missy.

"— of five years." Spavin ruffled at the interruption. "Which, this court wishes to stress, is a reduced period of imprisonment for murder, with considerations made towards Mr Sallow's age, his efforts against Ranrok and his loyalists in the summer term, and the positive testimonies given today."

Five years... not life.

"After this," Spavin continued, "Mr Sallow must serve a further two years of community service. The Wizengamot decrees this."

He banged the gavel.

Back in third year, during an energetic Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Ominis lost a duel. It was close, mind, but Andrew Larson had seized victory with a clever use of the Tripping jinx, which toppled Ominis off the platform. Resentment had roiled in him for the rest of the day as he replayed the mistake over and over, choosing the moments he could've done differently or changed the outcome of the match. When he went to the dorms that evening, still surly about it, he was barely responsive to Sebastian's chatter.

He didn't realise he'd fallen asleep until someone shook him. Roughly.

"There he is. Merlin, you sleep like a dead troll."

Ominis opened his eyes blearily. Crust had formed in the corners. "Sebastian? What do you want? What time is it?"

"It's one o'clock." He could feel Sebastian's grin. "And I learnt a new spell."

"Well done, you're a big wizard now. Now go back to bed."

"Nope, not tonight. Come on, I'll teach you. And hurry, before Augustus wakes up and whinges about missing beauty sleep."

Ominis sighed and got out of bed. Even back then, he enabled.

Narrowly missing an encounter with Peeves, they snuck to the Undercroft under the cover of Disillusionment. So late, Ominis could detect every sound, loud as a heartbeat in his ears, the sniffles of the paintings in slumber, the hum of the pipes in the walls, the dim outside world, never truly asleep. But the Undercroft, no matter what time of day, always sounded the same. Always bone-quiet and peaceful. Always, he relied on it to be a place of solitude.

When the grille closed behind them, the boys threw off Disillusionment, and Sebastian tossed his robe aside. How could anyone be so enthusiastic at this hour?

"What exactly am I learning then?" Ominis asked.

Sebastian let out a breathy chuckle. "The Blasting curse."

"How in Merlin's name did you learn the Blasting curse?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"... Yes, that's why I asked."

"It was in a spell book I found in— the library."

"So the Restricted Section?"

"Still the library," Sebastian said lightly. "We have to learn it. For prosperity's sake."

So Ominis allowed Professor Sallow to instruct him on the wand movement, the intentions, and the incantation – Confringo. He allowed Sebastian to test it himself, inconsistent but powerful, on the braziers chained to the ceiling, and eventually the dummies too. He tried it himself, and after a few fails, took a chunk out of the dummy's shoulder.

"Good," said Sebastian. "Now we test it on each other."

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

"All the best ideas start as terrible ideas."

"I should think all the best ideas start as the best ideas, Sebastian."

"Afraid of a spot of duelling, is that it?" Sebastian taunted. "Afraid I'll kick your arse?"

Which clued Ominis in. That duel in Defence Against the Dark Arts – Sebastian had learnt this spell so Ominis could learn it, too. To win.

Sly bastard.

"Only afraid I'll damage you so badly not even Madam Blainey will be able to save you."

"Oh, my friend, you'll be eating those words. From a straw."

He backed away, and they both bowed before assuming offensive stances.

Sebastian got off the first spell. "Confringo!"

"Protego!"

The spell zinged off the shield, causing a crater in the ground, so tremulous Ominis felt it in his feet.

"Merlin's beard," Sebastian laughed. "That was epic."

"Again," said Ominis. "Confringo!"

"Protego!"

This spell devoured half a pillar. It cracked – and panicked, Sebastian cast the Repairing charm, and the debris reversed back into place.

"Explosive," he said.

"That's why it's called the Blasting curse, is it not?" Ominis pointed his wand. "Confringo!"

Sebastian launched out of the way of this one, and it took a chunk from the back wall. They traded the curse back and forth, nearly destroying the place in their eagerness to win.

"Anne is going to kill us," said Sebastian, still laughing. "Confringo!"

"Protego!"

But the spell burst the dummy to Ominis' right, exploding flaming shards outwards. They sliced his face, his clothes, and he yelped.

"Ack, careful, Sebast—" He became suddenly aware something was very hot on his face. "What the— ah! I'm on fire!"

"Oh shit!" Sebastian ran to him, agitated. "Hold still! Aqua Eructo!"

The water jet blasted Ominis off his feet, and his shoulder met the ground, lancing a quick stab of pain up his side. He stuck out his hand to brace himself – slapping a puddle – and sat up, then plucked a wet strand from his face.

"Well, at least I'm not on fire anymore."

Sebastian was silent.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing." His pitch was squealing. A lie.

"It's not nothing. Are you— laughing?"

Sebastian let out a funny noise. "Your— your eyebrow is singed clean off."

"What?"

He pressed where his eyebrow should've been... but only met naked, puckered skin. His best friend couldn't take it anymore, laughing so hard he fell back against the pillar.

"Oh yeah?" Ominis stood, pointed his wand. "Confringo!"

The curse burst near Sebastian's head, cratering the stone, causing him to flail. "Oi, you— shit!" The flames licked. "Put it out! Put it out!"

And when Ominis sprayed him with water, his friend was also soaking wet, swearing.

"Bastard! Now my eyebrow's gone too!"

"Well then, we must match."

"Now we've got a pair between us."

That sent them both into hysterics.

And the next morning, in History of Magic, when tiredness threatened to consume them both, you skipped up to the boys with your usual cheer – and then asked, with a note of confusion:

"Erm, Sebastian, Ominis... why are you missing half your eyebrows?"

It was important to remember those good times. To cling to them, when the future seemed hopeless. It was the only thing keeping Ominis afloat, when he stepped into the cell before they were to take Sebastian away to Azkaban.

The low temperature raised gooseflesh along his arms. Ominis tugged his jacket closer around him as the door shut, with a short, "Five minutes."

Five minutes, before five years.

He didn't know what emotion churned through him then. Regret, mostly, that he hadn't been strong enough to put his foot down sooner, regret that he couldn't have prevented everything – Solomon's death, your curse, Sebastian's sentence. It was too late for such sentiments, of course, and he knew it was irrational to blame himself for things he could not possibly control.

Enabler, complicit.

And yet.

Sebastian's chains rattled against iron bars. It was criminal in and of itself to hold him in such a way, as if he was a danger. Without his wand, without his anger, he was just a boy, lost in the mistakes of his past. He let out a mirthless chuckle.

"Look at us, the best Slytherin duo that's ever been, back together again."

Ominis scoffed. "A joke, now? Really?"

"Hardly going to have the time for them in the next five years, will I?" He chastened. "Thank you, about what you said to the council. Are we all right? I mean, really?"

That was a difficult question to ask, with an equally tangled web of an answer.

"It'll never be like what it was before," Ominis admitted quietly. "You killed your uncle. You, and you alone, have to live with that decision."

"I— I know." And there was grief there, genuine remorse. "I— was angry, I wasn't thinking... all just poor excuses now, I realise."

"You can regret only your actions, not your feelings," Ominis said, corralling the thought. "A wise person once told me that."

"Gibby's hardly full of dispensable wisdom, so I'm going to guess it was Missy." When Ominis smiled, Sebastian said, "I know her so well. She wants to appeal the trial, did you know?"

Already? "Sounds like her."

"Can you make sure she, you know, doesn't spend the next five years gnawing at her fingertips about this? Make sure she does other things. Goes out there and lives. Then at least I can live vicariously through her. And Anne, will you keep in touch with her? I know she's out doing her own thing now, and she doesn't want to know about me anymore, but... it would make me happy to know she's happy."

"She is happy," said Ominis, throat swelling. "She's much happier."

"Good. And Gibby too, keep her out of trouble. And for Merlin's sake, all your pining is old at this point, so just tell her how you feel. It would make you less miserable."

"Your wisdom is noted," Ominis said, not without sarcasm.

"Hey, it worked for me. I got to kiss Missy. That'll keep me going for five years."

"Sap."

"For her, yeah. I'm a big ol' sap."

It was sickening how easily he expressed his affections.

Sebastian's mirth whistled out of him. "Take care of each other, all of you. Please. That's my only request."

"I will, and I'm sorry," Ominis said. "That I... didn't stop you sooner."

"I'm sorry that you felt like you had to stop me at all." It came out as a sober admission, but his voice broke. "I don't know what sort of world I'll come back to after five years, but... I just want you to know, Ominis, you were one of the best parts of Hogwarts for me. Your family – they don't know the real you, that you're loyal and kind and wise and great. Don't ever let them make you think otherwise. Thank you for putting up with me."

Ominis laughed, and the burning in his eyes released with the tears. "Thank you for being there for me whenever I needed you. You will survive Azkaban, because you're a survivor, and... you're my brother, too. More than my family. More than anyone else I know."

The door swung open. "Five minutes up. Out you get, Mr Gaunt."

When Ominis headed back to his parents, frantically drying his face, it only hit him then that it would be the last time he'd see his best friend in five years.

And the Sebastian that would come out the other side would not be the same ever again.

Please like/ reblog/ comment/ share if you enjoyed <3

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[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, just a lot of angst (eventually there will be fluff and smut, but in later chapters)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— A/N: This fic is for a prompt by @pugsnotdrugs92, and I was also asked to write a similar fic by at least one anon.

Sadly, since she gave me that prompt, Pugs has deleted her blog. I have just learned this tonight and I am... pretty damn upset, I'll say that (not at her of course 💗, but at what caused it).

I will just say that if you get hate from anyone, block them, block indiscriminately until you have peace. I hope that Pugs (and anyone who deleted their blog as part of this mess) will make an account on this hellsite again one day <3

Anyway! On with the fic. Hope you enjoy it, my dears 🌺

Nobody had any idea who turned Sebastian in. It came so unexpectedly that they almost didn’t believe it when he happened. After all, it had been two years since Solomon’s death, and everyone in Feldcroft believed he died in his sleep.

“I know it isn’t me,” she said tearfully to Ominis one day, “and I know it isn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t Anne either,” said Ominis with a shake of his head.

“Are you sure? She still isn’t speaking to Sebastian.”

“She protected him this whole time, why would she report him to the ministry now? She might not forgive Sebastian, but she wouldn’t do this to him…”

Their suspicions fell on Leander, or the goblins, or any number of rivals Sebastian had made, but none of their suspects were likely to even know the truth about what happened that day in the catacomb. It therefore stood to reason that someone had overheard them speaking about it at some point, but that did little to narrow it down — for all they knew, one of the portraits had heard them and reported it to the Headmaster.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who told the Aurors about it. The trio rushed through their N.E.W.T.S. half-heartedly, with Sebastian unsurprisingly scoring lower than he ever had, and in their spare time they spoke of nothing but the upcoming trial.

They’d even arranged for a solicitor for Sebastian, and visited him via floo in London, but he only spoke to his client in private. And every time Sebastian walked out of the wizard’s office, he looked more discouraged than the last.

The trial took place during summer, right after their 7th year ended. Both she and Ominis attended it every day. Imelda came sometimes as well, and Poppy, and Lucan — even Garreth attended on two occasions. He’d never liked Sebastian much, but he seemed to put aside his feelings throughout all of this.

“They don’t mean to send him there, do they?” he whispered as they sat outside the courtroom one sweltering afternoon.

“Where else?” said Imelda. “They closed all the other wizarding prisons centuries ago.”

“But he’s supposed to have done it while he was still a student…”

“What d’you expect? That they’ll give him detention for murder?”

“No, but…”

“You don’t think he really did it, do you, Imelda?” asked Poppy, leaning over Garreth.

“He didn’t,” said Ominis without even glancing their way.

“That’s right,” she said from beside Ominis. “Sebastian’s done nothing wrong.”

The trial went badly almost from the start. The judge was a grey old wizard in a funny wig, and there was no jury to speak of. He seemed to treat the death of a former Auror, even one of such ill repute as Solomon, quite seriously. The Prosecution leaned into that every chance they got.

Anne was called to give testimony in the first week, and she confessed under oath what she had found when she reached the catacombs, which was enough to shock the court. Sebastian’s friends took courage from the fact that she had not actually seen what killed Solomon, but it was only a matter of the judge drawing a line between a quick succession of events.

Ominis was called to the stand as well, but lied shamelessly. Even the threat of Veritaserum from the Prosecution didn’t sway him. He knew none of them would dare submit a Gaunt to that — a rare occasion of his family name amounting to something. However, him being Sebastian’s oldest friend cast doubt upon his entire deposition…

And then, she was called to give testimony as well. Unlike Ominis, she was not sure she could afford to lie, but nothing could get her to betray Sebastian.

All that she could remember was that Solomon attacked the both of them, and both she and Sebastian felt quite threatened by him, and then somehow, between the flying curses and roving Inferi, Uncle Solomon fell dead. But that happened, after all, more than two years ago, Your Honour, and it was in a dark and gloomy cave — and oh, what were they doing there? Objection. Relevance?

Ominis and the others congratulated her on well she held her own, but deep down, she felt like she had let her best friend down — her statement didn’t put the blame on Sebastian, but neither did it exonerate him.

By the time the trial was approaching the end, their former classmates had stopped coming, and only she and Ominis were left.

“He looks so —”

“I know,” said Ominis, not wanting to hear her describe him. This was on the last day, and the judge would give the verdict.

Guilty. Six months in Azkaban.

The courtroom reverberated with murmurs from the crowd — some in approval, others in outrage.

It was a horrible sentence to hear, but it was not as bad as their worst fears — people were often given life imprisonment for the Unforgivables. Fortunately, in Sebastian’s case, there was not enough conclusive evidence either way. Still, if they were to appeal, it would take longer than six months to even have a new judge assigned to the case, so they were left with no choice but to accept it.

As the Aurors led Sebastian away, she and Ominis stood together and called out useless encouragements to their friend, telling him to have courage, to be strong, have faith that he would soon be free, but he went with the guards without looking back at them…

Most of their former classmates were shocked but seemed to think the six-month sentence would pass quickly. They knew Azkaban was pretty horrible and could remember a few things from their DADA class, but none of them was truly educated on the nature of Dementors. Ominis was. He’d been in their presence when he and his father went to visit an uncle of his who’d been sentenced for murdering a muggle. He claimed it was the worst experience he’d ever had in his life — worse than Crucio, in its own way. He still remembered how the despair lingered inside him for days.

And as time passed, she became aware of something lingering within herself as well…

By the fourth month, she had to use concealment charms around her waist when she went out in public. Ominis figured it out on his own — it was probably that echolocation spell he used to get around. He’d merely been suspicious at first, but by the fifth month…

“Can anyone else see?!”

“No, and they won’t if you just stop —”

“But this could ruin your reputation!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

“I can’t believe you! How c—”

“Ominis, shut up,” she hissed.

“But you —”

“It’s Sebastian’s!”

“… Oh. I suppose that makes it better, then.”

From then on, Ominis supported her and helped her in any way he could — which admittedly wasn’t much, as he was still getting used to living on his own after being freed from his family’s clutches. And either way, the first few months were gentle enough on her that she could cope well enough on her own. The only help she needed was preparing her small flat to host two people — and eventually three — which meant some creative furniture transfiguration to fit everything in too small a space.

Christmas arrived in the meanwhile, then the New Year. They had tried writing to him every month by then, but the authorities kept sending their letters back — none were allowed for fear of concealed enchantments, they said, and no visitations were allowed either for lower-class prisoners. It broke her heart to know him all alone throughout those rotten months and all through the holidays. Neither she nor Ominis found it in them to celebrate anything that year…

Sebastian was released in February. They wouldn’t be allowed on the island of Azkaban, but they could see him at the Ministry, where he would be transported before he was officially freed.

She and Ominis got there at sunrise, and waited for hours.

Sebastian’s assigned solicitor couldn’t be there, as he had another case, but he sent a house elf to sign the release form in his name. Anne hadn’t come either, but that was hardly a surprise…

The two of them sat alone in a busy hallway, watching witches and wizards pass through — some going in, some going out — until finally, late in the afternoon, the Auror at the front desk told them that inmate Sallow would be arriving within minutes.

“Here, here, they said this will be the exit,” she said, pulling on Ominis’ sleeve.

Two large wooden doors lay open out of which a long dark hallway extended like a neck, and on either side were doors being shut and open of ministry workers travelling through. There was constantly a small crowd of people darkening that space even further.

“I think that’s him,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes when she spotted a dark ruffled head of hair.

“Alright, stay calm,” said Ominis, taking her hand to settle her. Since he’d realised that she was pregnant, he was instinctively more protective.

“Oh, it is! It is him!” she said with tears in her happy voice.

Sebastian was led out of one of those side doors — dressed in a grey and black prisoner’s uniform, his hands and feet chained, terribly thin and tired and bent at the back, and looking as if he hadn’t slept for days…

“Sebastian!” she called out, waving to him with the hand that wasn’t in Ominis’ grasp. “Over here!”

He looked up slowly, as if doubting that he’d heard his name called. His eyes searched blearily through the crowd ahead, not really focusing anywhere, but then they fell on her. She grinned brightly when she caught his gaze.

“Y-you came?” he said, looking at the two of them like they were a dream come true.

“Of course,” she said.

“Surely you didn’t expect anything else,” grinned Ominis.

“I… I need to go somewhere, they’re taking me to… to…” He didn’t have time to explain before Aurors led him around the corner and to another room, for processing.

“We’ll be here,” she called out after him, “we’ll wait for you!”

“How does he look?” whispered Ominis. “He sounded quite weak.”

“He looks… the way he sounded,” she said, “but he’ll be alright… He has to be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Sebastian stepped back outside. He was now dressed the way he was when they arrested him: a faded green sweater and black trousers with worn old leather shoes. The clothes hung on his lanky frame, his face was all angles and shadows, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a wash in the whole six months. He was, of course, without his wand as well — they’d broken that after his sentencing.

But there was a still little light still left in his eyes, and it shone when he saw his friends again. He called out her name and Ominis’, and walked toward them with feeble brisk steps.

“I can’t believe it,” he grinned weakly, his steps growing bolder the closer he got to his friends. “I never thought —”

But then he noticed their joined hands, and her swollen stomach, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He only caught the sight for a second before she let go of Ominis and rushed to embrace him.

“Seb,” she cried out as she jumped into his arms. She clung to his neck like a lifeline. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve… missed you too,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

She buried her face in his neck while Sebastian’s eyes fell to Ominis — who embraced him too from the other side in an uncharacteristic display of affection, before he stood back timidly.

“How… erm, how are you?” he asked with a nervous smile, feeling more happy than he cared to admit, and relieved to have his friend back in one piece.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian. Gently, he dropped the girl from his arms and slowly pulled away.

“Of course,” she said, wiping her tears and stepping back, but keeping his hand clasped in hers. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say anything. We just came to take you home. It’s alright now… You’re free, you’re finally back. We’ve missed you so much…”

“Home?” said Sebastian, looking between her and Ominis coolly. “Whose home is that?”

“Well… whichever one you want,” she said. “Yours or mine or…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to see Feldcroft again,” said Sebastian. “But I wouldn’t want to… impose on either of you.”

“What?” frowned Ominis. “Don’t be stup— I mean, don’t worry about that, Sebastian.”

“Oh, is there something to worry about?” he asked.

“Well —”

“We don’t need to discuss that —”

“— here.”

“— now.”

“… I see.”

“Don’t concern yourself with anything,” she smiled, stepping up to him again and embracing him loosely. “Let’s leave this horrible place first…”

They made their way out of the ministry building and through the cold London streets toward Diagon Alley, and his friends talked to him excitedly about the things that had happened: what their former classmates were doing, what they knew about Anne, even the latest Quidditch matches.

They probably felt less cheerful than they seemed, but their enthusiasm was overflowing as they prattled on about all the normal things people their age should care about, almost as if nothing bad had happened at all. They laughed, and smiled, and rubbed his back, and all the while there was in Sebastian’s gait much of the same imprisoned and defeated look as there had been when he was led out of the courtroom at his sentencing.

“We wrote to you while you were there,” she said as they approached the Leaky Cauldron.

“But the damned guards never delivered them,” said Ominis.

Sebastian listened in silence, and they tacitly agreed it was because of what he had been through. He would open up to both of them in time, they were certain…

They decided to have lunch at the Cauldron since neither of them had eaten anything since morning — and they didn’t even wish to think of the food in Azkaban. They ordered sausages and eggs and mashed potatoes and a great big serving of pickled pumpkin.

Sebastian ate the least out of the three of them — and what he didn’t finish, she devoured. Ominis hid his chuckle behind a cough, while Sebastian could barely look at her. If she noticed it, she didn’t say. She just kept smiling and laughing along with Ominis…

More than ever in Azkaban, he wished he could dig a hole for himself through which to disappear. The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded, the smell of food made his stomach turn, and every scrape of a chair was like a scratch across his brain. Even sitting down was uncomfortable, his muscles too thin and his back too weak to hold him. He moved uncomfortably from one position to another, and let his friends prattle on to fill the emptiness between them.

After almost an hour, they decided to leave, and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“I’m seeing someone at the ministry next Wednesday about a position,” said Ominis as they walked toward the fireplace. “But I can stop by afterwards if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Do you have enough chocolate at home? I can bring some more.”

“Shelves full of it,” she laughed. “But more is always a good idea. I suspect we’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll bid you two goodbye for now, then,” said Ominis as he waved them off, blissfully oblivious to what was going through Sebastian’s mind.

“Goodbye,” she said with a tearful smile, letting go of Sebastian for a brief while to hug their friend once more.

“I’ll let you know before I arrive on Wednesday.”

“Not to worry, Ominis. We’ll be alright… Everything will be alright now.”

“I hope so…”

“And good luck with your interview!”

“Thank you… Although I’m not sure I want it.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” said Sebastian tiredly. “For… everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “I’m glad to have you back. We both are. Just focus on getting well again…”

Sebastian nodded, not feeling that any of their kind words were true. He disappeared in the green flames with her, wishing for once to not appear on the other end.

[666writingcafe]

Court Transcript

An Excerpt

Craxon: The Society now calls MC onto the stand.

MC, the Defendant, first having been duly sworn in by Societal law, was examined and testified as follows:

Craxon: In your own words, describe what happened in the early hours of July 14.

MC: I was getting ready to go to sleep when Belphegor knocked on my bedroom door. He told me that there was an emergency and that we needed to leave quickly. After changing out of my pajamas, I followed him into the garage, where he proceeded to open a toy chest and pulling out various weapons.

Craxon: Were you handed any of these weapons?

MC: Yes, after he had grabbed the ones he wanted. They were on the small side, and he only gave me a few. I also had my knife on me.

Craxon: Did he explain why you needed weapons?

MC: No. Just that I may need them.

Craxon: What happened next?

MC: Belphegor and I got in one of the cars in the garage and started driving. Once we were on the road, I asked him to tell me what exactly was going on.

Craxon: Why didn't you ask him beforehand?

MC: I've learned not to question demons too much when they tell me that there's an emergency. Mainly because there isn't any time for chit-chat. You often just get thrown into the thick of things.

Craxon: I see. So, what did Belphegor tell you?

MC: That Lord Diavolo left him an encrypted note telling him that he was getting kidnapped and taken to a local amusement park. I told him that an amusement park is a weird place to take someone you've kidnapped, and he explained that whoever did might have needed the space to perform dark magic.

Craxon: How did that make you feel?

MC: Enraged. I didn't want anyone to hurt Lord Diavolo.

Craxon: How come?

MC: Because I care about him.

Avarius: Demon spawn!

MC: I have held my tongue throughout these proceedings, but he is really starting to get on my nerves.

Craxon: Avarius, you have said your piece. Now it is MC's turn. *pauses* MC, you may proceed.

MC: Thank you. So, once Belphegor and I arrived at the amusement park, we walked over to where the circus tents were set up and ducked into the biggest one, hiding behind the bleachers. We saw Lord Diavolo standing inside a salt circle, and shortly after our arrival Avarius and five others enter the tent. Of course, I didn't know who he was until he started interrogating Lord Diavolo and Belphegor hissed his name in disgust. Avarius, on the other hand, knew who I was, although he didn't refer to me by my name.

Craxon: What did he call you?

MC: A half-breed.

Craxon: How did that make you feel?

MC: At first, I had no idea what or who he was referring to, but once he revealed his suspicions of Lord Diavolo sending Solomon to the Society building and having him force the workers to give the 'wretched half-breed' a permit, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. The rage I felt earlier in the car came back in full force.

Craxon: How come?

MC: Because I felt insulted. For one, it's not like I could control the circumstances of my birth--

Avarius: But you chose to conspire with demons! The pacts you have with them make you a half-breed!

MC: *takes a deep breath* Can I speak freely?

Craxon: As long as you know that it'll be on record.

MC: Of course. *pauses* If you're going to bully me, at least get your facts straight. I am part angel, not demon.

Avarius: Liar!

MC: I am literally under the influence of truth serum. How could I possibly lie right now?

Avarius: Demons are immune to truth serum!

MC: With that logic, you might as well throw Lord Diavolo and Belphegor's testimonies right out the window. And Solomon's too while you're at it, because between the seventy-some pacts he has and his immortality, he's even less human than I am.

Craxon: Order!

MC: If you want proof of my ancestry, then here it is. *pushes up their sleeve to reveal a white mark on their shoulder* I am both Lilith's human descendant and angelic successor. Some of her powers passed down to me when I was born.

Craxon: Order!

MC: *sighs* I apologize. As you were saying?

Craxon: *sits in silence*

MC: *twiddles their thumbs*

Craxon: *clears his throat* No more questions.

MC: Are you sure?

Craxon: Yes. I have made my decision. *pauses* At this time, MC is allowed to keep their sorcerer's permit.

Avarius: What?! How?!

MC: For once, I'm in agreement with Avarius. I killed his colleague. Intentionally. That should be grounds for suspension, should it not?

Craxon: You did it to protect someone. To punish you would be to punish those before you, and at that point there may as well not be a Society, because at one point or another, we have all been in your position. *pauses* Furthermore, I, Craxon, award MC with the Star of Diligence.

MC: Thanks...I think.

Avarius: I can't believe this! *storms out of the room*

Craxon: If my records are correct, that only leaves one star left for you to obtain in order to get your license. It is tradition that the Society takes charge of the final test, and I believe I have the perfect one for you.

MC: Should I be worried?

Craxon: Only if you are afraid of what you might see.

MC: What's that supposed to mean?

Craxon: To test your humility, you must be able to not only admit your greatest fear, but to face it head-on. *to an attendant* Fetch the dark red chest and set it in the center of the room.

Attendant: *does what he is told*

Craxon: Inside this chest is a boogeyman. It will transform into your deepest fear the moment it sees you. Your goal is to force it back inside its chest. You can take as much time as you need to mentally prepare, but once the boogeyman is released, you must complete the test. Do you understand?

MC: I do.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … January 31

1729 – A Prussian baker is executed for fellating another man who later died, according to the court, of "exhaustion."

1797 – Austrian composer Franz Schubert was born (d.1828). He wrote some six hundred Lieder, nine symphonies (including the famous "Unfinished Symphony"), liturgical music, operas and a large body of chamber and solo piano music. He is particularly noted for original melodic and harmonic writing.

While Schubert had a close circle of friends and associates who admired his work (including his teacher Antonio Salieri and the prominent singer Johann Michael Vogl), wider appreciation of his music during his lifetime was limited at best. He was never able to secure adequate permanent employment, and for most of his career he relied on the support of friends and family. Interest in Schubert's work increased dramatically in the decades following his death.

Schubert was significantly influenced by his close-knit group of male friends, known as the Schubert Circle. His relationships with an older school friend Joseph von Spaun, the young poet Johann Mayrhofer, and the wealthy young sensualist Franz von Schober were the most important of his life. He and Schober often lived together for extended periods.

Citing the composer's dissipation, his lack of female love interests, his passionate male friendships and several oblique references in his surviving correspondence, Maynard Solomon has argued that Schubert's primary erotic orientation was homosexual. The immediate reaction on the part of many musicologists and music critics, who often simply refused to consider the evidence, revealed a deep-seated homophobia among many specialists in classical music. But in recent years the notion of a gay Schubert has become if not commonplace, at least much less controversial. Schubert's alleged homosexuality and its effect on his music are subjects of continuing debate among music historians and critics.

1914 – Edward Melcarth (d.1973) was a painter, sculptor, illustrator, lecturer and teacher, born in Louisville, Kentucky, as Edward Epstein Jr. Edward Melcarth who dared to live as an openly homosexual man and not hiding his support for communism did not earn a significant place in modern art’s canonical history for exactly those reasons.

He was active on New York’s burgeoning, post-World War II art scene; his work was shown at the Museum of Modern Art in the 1940s and at Manhattan galleries over a decades-long timespan, and he knew just about everyone, including the multimillionaire art collector and Forbes magazine publisher, Malcolm Forbes; his circle also included many other artists as well as countless, now nameless hustlers, sailors, beach bums, and representatives of working-class “trade” who posed for his pictures and with whom he had sex.

Summer Morning

Melcarth was born Edward Epstein to Jewish parents in Louisville in 1914. After his father died, his mother, whose family discouraged her from becoming an opera singer, remarried a wealthy British aristocrat. Edward, who would reject religion and change his surname to that of an ancient Phoenician god, was educated in London and at Harvard University; later he studied art in Boston with the German-born painter Karl Zerbe.

The gay, Kentucky-born artist Henry Faulkner, the photographer Thomas Painter, and Melcarth lived together in New York for some time during the decades following WWII. They shared friends, artistic interests — and sexual partners, too.

Painter was one of the research subjects who provided testimonials about his own and his homosexual associates’ sexual activities to the pioneering sexologist Alfred Kinsey. His reports were detailed, and from them we learn that Melcarth's appetite for sex was rapacious.

In the late 1960s, Melcarth left New York and settled in Venice, where he focused on making sculpture and died in 1973. At some point during his New York years, he had met Malcolm Forbes, who became a regular collector-patron and, after Melcarth’s death, acquired a large quantity of his works, and has been the source of many expositions of Melcarth's art.

1948 – Paul Jabara (d.1992) was an American actor, singer, and songwriter of Lebanese ancestry.

Paul wrote Donna Summer's "Last Dance" from Thank God It's Friday (1978) and Barbra Streisand's song "The Main Event/Fight" from The Main Event (1979). He cowrote the Weather Girls hit, "It's Raining Men" with Paul Shaffer.

Jabara was in the original cast of the stage musicals Hair and Jesus Christ Superstar. He took over the role of Frank-N-Furter in the Los Angeles Production of The Rocky Horror Show when Tim Curry left the production to film the movie version in England. He appeared in John Schlesinger's 1975 film, "The Day of the Locust", where he sang the production number "Hot Voo-Doo"

In 1979, Jabara won both Grammy Award for Best R&B Song and the Academy Award for Best Original Song for the song performed by Donna Summer, "Last Dance". Jabara's album Paul Jabara & Friends, released in 1983, features guest vocals by a then-20 year old Whitney Houston. It also includes the song "It's Raining Men". That song was later re-recorded several years later by drag supermodel RuPaul and Martha Wash. Wash sang on the original recording as part of the group the Weather Girls.

Jabara co-founded the Red Ribbon Project in 1991, and is credited with conceiving and distributing the first AIDS Red Ribbon.

Paul Jabara died of AIDS in Los Angeles at the age of 44 on September 29, 1992.

1952 – Brad Gooch is an American writer.

Born and raised in Kingston, Pennsylvania, he graduated from Columbia University with a bachelors in 1973 and a doctorate in 1986.

Gooch is currently a Professor of English at William Paterson University in New Jersey. He has lived in New York City since 1971. His 2015 memoir Smash Cut recounts life in 1970s and 1980s New York City, including the time Gooch spent as a fashion model, life with his then-boyfriend filmmaker Howard Brookner, living in the famous Chelsea Hotel and the first decade of the AIDS crisis.

Gooch is married to writer and religious activist Paul Raushenbush; they have one child.

1973 – Portia Lee James DeGeneres, known professionally as Portia de Rossi, is an Australian-American actress, model and philanthropist, known for her roles as lawyer Nelle Porter on the television series Ally McBeal and Lindsay Fünke on the sitcom Arrested Development. She also portrayed Veronica Palmer on the ABC sitcom Better Off Ted and Olivia Lord on Nip/Tuck. She is married to American stand-up comedian, television host and actress Ellen DeGeneres.

De Rossi, born Amanda Lee Rogers in Horsham, Victoria, Australia grew up in Grovedale, a suburb of Geelong, Victoria, and modelled for print and TV commercials as a child. In 1988, at the age of 15, Rogers adopted the name Portia de Rossi, by which she remains best known; in 2005, she explained that she had intended to reinvent herself, using the given name of Portia, a character from William Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, and an Italian last name.

De Rossi was married to documentary film-maker Mel Metcalfe from 1996 to 1999, initially part of a plan to get a green card, but she did not go through with it. She said that "it just obviously wasn't right for me". In a 2010 interview on Good Morning America, she explained that as a young actress, she was fearful of being exposed as a lesbian.

From 2000 to 2004, de Rossi dated singer Francesca Gregorini, the daughter of Barbara Bach and the stepdaughter of Ringo Starr. She said that most of her family and Ally McBeal castmates did not know she was a lesbian until tabloid pictures of the couple were published. She declined to publicly discuss the relationship or her sexual orientation at the time.

De Rossi and Gregorini broke up in late 2004 because de Rossi began dating Ellen DeGeneres, whom she met backstage at an awards show. In 2005, she opened up publicly about her sexual orientation in interviews with Details and The Advocate. She became engaged when DeGeneres proposed with a three-carat pink diamond ring. They were married at their Beverly Hills home on 16 August 2008, witnessed by their mothers and 17 other guests. On 6 August 2010, Portia filed a petition to legally change her name to Portia Lee James DeGeneres. The petition was granted on 23 September 2010. She became a US citizen in September 2011.

In 2010, de Rossi published the autobiography Unbearable Lightness which talks about the turmoil that she has experienced in her life, including suffering from anorexia nervosa and bulimia and being misdiagnosed with lupus.

1979 – Daniel Tammet is an English essayist, novelist, poet, translator, and autistic savant. His memoir, Born on a Blue Day (2006), is about his early life with Asperger syndrome and savant syndrome, and was named a "Best Book for Young Adults" in 2008 by the American Library Association's Young Adult Library Services magazine. His second book, Embracing the Wide Sky, was one of France's best-selling books of 2009. His third book, Thinking in Numbers, was published in 2012 by Hodder & Stoughton in the United Kingdom and in 2013 by Little, Brown and Company in the United States and Canada.

In 2016 he published his debut novel, Mishenka, in France and Quebec. His books have been published in over 20 languages. He was elected in 2012 to serve as a fellow of the Royal Society of Arts.

Tammet was born Daniel Paul Corney, the eldest of nine children, and raised in Barking and Dagenham, East London, England. As a young child, he suffered epileptic seizures, which remitted following medical treatment.

He participated twice in the World Memory Championships in London under his birth name, placing 11th in 1999 and 4th in 2000.

He changed his birth name by deed poll because "it didn't fit with the way he saw himself." He took the Estonian surname Tammet, which is related to "oak tree".

At age twenty-five, he was diagnosed with Asperger syndrome by Simon Baron-Cohen of the University of Cambridge Autism Research Centre. He is one of fewer than a hundred "prodigious savants" according to Darold Treffert, the world's leading researcher in the study of savant syndrome.

Tammet holds the European record for memorizing and recounting pi to 22,514 digits in just over five hours. This sponsored charity challenge was held in aid of the National Society for Epilepsy (NSE) on “Pi Day”, March 14, 2004, at the Museum of the History of Science, Oxford, UK.

He was the subject of a documentary film titled Extraordinary People: The Boy with the Incredible Brain, first broadcast on the British television station Channel 4 on 23 May 2005.

He met software engineer Neil Mitchell in 2000. They lived together as domestic partners in Kent, England, where they had a quiet life at home with their cats, preparing meals from their garden. He and Mitchell operated the online e-learning company Optimnem, where they created and published language courses.

Tammet now lives in Paris, France, with his husband Jérôme Tabet, a photographer whom he met while promoting his autobiography. Tammet is openly gay.

2017 – Thousands of gay and bisexual men who were convicted of now-abolished sexual offenses laws in Britain have been posthumously pardoned under a new policing law, the Justice Ministry announces. The law, which received Royal Assent on this day, is named after British WWII codebreaker Alan Turing, who committed suicide following his conviction for gross indecency and was posthumously pardoned by Her Majesty the Queen in 2013. It also makes it possible for living convicted gay men to seek pardons for offenses no longer on the statute book.

[honeyjars-sims]

2.32 Lou to the Rescue

Lou: Chantal, I just want to say I appreciate you helping out with this case. You could’ve just walked away and washed your hands of all of this, but what you’re doing is going to help a lot of people.

Chantal: I hope so. I feel bad enough that I’ve been working for a company that’s doing such horrible things.

Lou: The important thing is that you’re doing something about it now. I understand you have some reservations about this whole thing. I know lawyers don’t have the greatest reputations, but I promise you–and your dads– that you’re in good hands.

David: Father to father, we’re worried about what this company is capable of. How do we know that testifying against them won’t have consequences for Chantal?

Lou: Look, as a father, I wouldn’t put a young woman through this if I didn’t think we had a strong case. Thanks to your daughter, we do. The evidence speaks for itself, but with Chantal’s testimony, we have it in the bag.

Solomon: Well, it’s up to Chantal if she wants to proceed with testifying. What do you think, honey?

Chantal: I want to do what I can to make things right. If that means testifying against SNOOT and putting myself at risk for retaliation, then so be it. I just can’t walk away knowing I could’ve done something and didn’t.

Lou: You’re doing the right thing. I’ll work with you to prepare you for what kind of questions they might ask and how to answer them. I promise you, everything’s going to be fine. And if they try anything after the trial, let me know and I’ll help you however I can.

Chantal: Thanks so much! I feel better now. I can’t wait to see Ambrose get what she deserves.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[talonabraxas]

Ark of the Covenant King Solomon's Temple Talon Abraxas

The Ark of the Covenant

The Divine Presence that dwelled amongst Israel manifested itself through the Cherubim located on top of the Ark of the Covenant. Inside the Ark of the Covenant, the two tablets of the commandments were stored. There is a Talmudic discussion regarding the contents of the Ark, One opinion states that both the first Tablets (that were broken by Moses) as well as the second Tablets, and the Torah scroll written by Moses, were all housed in the Ark.

Thus the name of the Ark was the Ark of the Covenant or the Ark of the Testimony. Surrounding the Kaporet (the cover of the Ark) was a golden wreath representing the Crown of the Torah. Atop the Kaporet were two images of Cherubim that symbolized the relationship between the Children of Israel and their Father in Heaven.

The Talmud relates that Bezalel and Moses discussed the question of whether to build the Mishkan (the Tabernacle) first, or the Ark first, indicating the great importance of the Ark. The Ark was the only vessel about which the Torah specifically commands that its carrying poles are never to be removed. This signified that the Torah would accompany the Children of Israel wherever they went. (Our Sages have explained that the word Aron (the Ark) is related to the word Or, meaning light, for the Torah which is stored in the Ark is the source of light for the world.

The Ark consisted of three boxes that fit one inside the other. A wooden box was placed inside a slightly larger box made of gold and inside the wooden box was an additional golden box. In this way the Ark was covered in gold "on the inside and on the outside." The outer larger box was a bit more than one handbreadth higher than the wooden box and the inner box was a bit smaller so that they could be inserted into one another.

The dimensions of the Ark relate to the middle, wooden box - two and one half cubits long, one and one half cubits wide and one and one half cubits high. The Ark was covered by the Kaporet - a solid gold tablet with two Cherubim fashioned on top. The cherubim were an integral part of this cover, hewn from the same piece of gold. (Source: Exodus 25, 10-22).

The Tablets of the Covenant were placed in the Ark along with the Torah scroll written by Moses. The Ark of the Covenant symbolized the inspiration of the Divine Presence and prophecy in Israel.

Opinions vary regarding what exactly was placed inside the Ark: Some authorities maintain that the first set of tablets broken by Moses were inside the Ark, along with the second intact set, and the Torah Scroll which Moses wrote. Hence the name "the Ark of the Covenant" or "the Ark of the Testimony." The shape of the two tablets was square, and they were placed on the bottom of the Ark. However, a different opinion states that the broken tablets were kept in a separate Ark, that the Torah Scroll had its own special place on a shelf alongside the Ark. (Source: Baba Batra 14).

[slytherizz]

Snippet - Arranged Marriage WIP

If you sent me an Ask requesting an arranged marriage fic ages ago…I am working on it and I’m sorry it’s taking so long! Im actually really excited about your ask and I have so many ideas it’s just finding time to finish it - 💚

Sebastian is almost certain he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal confundus charm. Either that or he was at present suffering a massive life altering haemorrhage. Somewhere amongst the sun deceptively warming his cheeks, the familiar groan of the dragon bones anchored above them, as it tilted its great head in greeting when they'd arrived. Hecate's office, full of mysterious tombs and the lingering scent of smoke. Ash trampled so tightly into the grooves in the floorboards he doubted even the house elves could pry out the smell.

He’d gotten too comfortable. No. Down right complacent as of late and now his psyche in a riotous act of self-preservation was giving him a blistering slap back into reality.

Pull yourself together.

Sebastian dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. He hissed, a sharp pain as he broke the skin. Felt the blood prickle hot against his sweat slicked palms as it beaded along the thin wound. Uncomfortable. Stinging. And far, far too real.

“What-?” he managed to croak around a lump in his throat. Praying to Merlin that if this wasn’t a dream it was some elaborate and albeit cruel practical joke.

“Spousal Privileges,” Hecat repeated.

Sebastian choked violently on his own saliva. The wind knocked out of him by a patient and vindictive phantom.

“What this means is you couldn’t be forced to give a testimony or surrender any memories pertaining to anything to do with Mr Sallow. With your sisters still missing, the only people who know what really happened in that catacomb are the two of you. If you can’t be forced to corroborate this theory that’s the way it stays,” his professor continued, unmoved by the blood draining rapidly from his face.

Her eyes were fixed intently on Hecat refusing to meet Sebastian’s panicked eye. He shifted in his seat towards her. Turning between her and their professor.

Waiting. A heartbeat and then more passed. Mounting up until it became a deafening drum in his ears.

He wanted her to laugh. Let it loose the dangerous tension mounting with every second this insanity stretched on for. Most pathetically of all - he wanted her to save him. Cling to some sense of normalcy, her stability by his side whilst the rest of him was spiraling out of control.

She was uncharacteristically still in her chair. Her fist clenched so tightly in the pleats of her skirt her knuckles blanched white. A half finished braid she’d been fiddling with behind her ear hung abandoned.

“Why now? It’s been years since…” she asked, with a measured tone Sebastian felt the situation did not warrant.

Sparing him a glance which did little to put him at ease. If anything the serious crease to her brow set him on edge.

Sebastian was unravelling. The thread he’d used to stitch back together a semblance of a life was pulling apart at an alarming rate. And the only two people who had any hope of holding him back together were entertaining this insanity.

“Some of Miss Sallow’s effects were uncovered at the former Feldcroft residence. It seems no one had tended to the home since your Uncle passed…unexpectedly. My contact at the Ministry informs me that there's only one Auror pushing for those memories. Sergeant Tuttle. Old guard. Worked closely with your uncle when they were both juniors in the department. The rest are happy to let Solomon’s memory remain as it has been for the past two years - the heroic final act protecting his young charges from a horde of uncontrollable inferi… personally am inclined to agree.”

Hecate’s already thin lips pulled so tight they almost entirely disappeared. Her inscrutable brown eyes peeling back the curtain seeing far beyond the truth to the crux of him, weighing his mettle.

But what he had been was careless. Sebastian supposed he could argue that . He’d been too eager to turn his back on that hovel that had never been his home. Knowing Anne was not there it had seemed rather pointless. No one had touched the wards in over a year. Perhaps when he’d boxed up his feelings and shoved them away. In his desperation to move past what he had done, he didn’t consider the possibility that there were others out there who, unlike him, may not want to move on so hastily from Solomon's death.

Anne certainly hadn’t.

“With you two being so close, this is the cleanest option-”

“I don’t bloody care about clean!” Sebastian broke from his stupor. Fist slamming on the table rattling the spoon from where it rested against his saucer. “We need the other options. What are they?”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Hecat said sharply. “This is your only option. And you’d do well not to leap to such dramatics if you want this to work, Mr Sallow. In particular I’d advise against taking such a tone with me.”

Sebastian didn’t care. He’d already geared up to argue back against this preposterous idea when she cut him off.

“We’ll do it.”

Sebastian choked again, head snapping to look at her. “You can’t be serious!”

She simply glared back at him, as if he wasn’t the only reasonable person left in the room. “I’ve kept you out of Azkaban this long-“

Their professor cleared her throat, having little patience for the argument that was beginning to unfold.

“I’d choose your words more carefully in front of an audience but I admire the passion. If you want this to succeed you’ll have to make them believe this. Believe you. You can’t cast any doubt on the reason for any of it. A young couple, so in love they simply cannot wait to be married.”

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Hi! I figured out where I read about that thing between Shostakovich and Prokofiev. It was in Testimony by Solomon Volkov (so take it with a grain of salt), and the person who wanted them to reconcile was Vano Muradeli, the composer of The Great Friendship and the same guy who threw Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Khachaturian, Popov, Shebalin, and Myakovsky under the bus in 1948.

ahhhh, okay. yeah; testimony is a tricky source! I’ve admittedly only read parts of it. I have the full thing on a pdf, but I haven’t read the entire thing, mainly because I’m kinda worried I’ll get the information in there mixed up with what I’ve read in more credible sources. but thanks!!