#bloodandlegacy

[bloodandlegacy]

The way he’d pulled me close, his hands finding me like they’d always known the way. His lips had been softer than I’d imagined—no, softer than I’d let myself imagine, because I’d sworn I wouldn’t let myself think of him that way. But now… now there was no pretending.

[glorifizieren]

Blood & Legacy needed some "lighter" stuff (LOL), and this was supposed to be my "fun and light" chapter. So, tell me why it broke my heart.

P.S. Katy Perry is probably my least favorite artist, but this song just fit.

______________________________________________________________

Not Mine to Lose: In Another Life

The night is quiet.

But my mind is not.

My hands can’t stay still, tracing and retracing the edges of the book resting in my lap, an unconscious, restless movement. The leather is worn, softened by time. The gold-leafed lettering on the cover barely legible after years of touch. 

The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

I never even asked for it.

Ominis gave it to me. 

There had been no conversation, no explanation—except there was. I see it now. I feel it now. The way his hands had hovered when he passed it to me, the way his breath had caught the slightest bit before he spoke. "I think you’ll like this one," he had said, quieter than usual, something unreadable beneath the words.

I had laughed, not thinking. A book of Fairy tales? From him? But then his fingers brushed mine as I took it.

It was nothing. But it was everything.

A fleeting, inconsequential touch… except it wasn’t.

Because in that instant, I felt it—the breath I forgot to take, the shift in the air between us, the way his fingertips lingered just a fraction of a second too long.

And he must have felt it too.

Because his hand tensed like he meant to pull away. But he didn’t. 

The space between us suddenly felt fragile, like if we breathed too loud, the moment would break. 

I should have let go. I should have taken the book and moved on.

But I didn’t.

Because in that brief, stolen second, I realized something I wasn’t ready to admit.

That his presence wasn’t just familiar—it was safe in the exact way I needed.

That the warmth of his skin against mine felt like something I needed, yet something I shouldn’t want.

I had spent so much time thinking of him as an inevitability, someone I could always find, always reach for, that I had never let myself consider what it would mean to lose him.

And suddenly, I was afraid.

So I laughed. Light. Dismissive. As if the moment hadn’t just split me open.

"Fairy tales? You, of all people?"

His expression gave nothing away. His hand slipped back to his side. An absence I felt more than I should have.

"I had a copy when I was younger," he admitted, voice steady but distant. "My mother used to read it to me."

It was the first time he had ever mentioned her. His mother.

"Did you have a favorite story?" I asked, softer now.

I hadn’t expected an answer. I thought he would brush it off, dismiss it as irrelevant. But he had surprised me.

"The Fountain of Fair Fortune," he said finally.

I glanced up at him then, catching the barest flicker of something in his eyes. He looked like there was more to say. But he didn’t. 

Trying to lighten the moment, I teased, "Sentimental, Gaunt?”

His lips twitched into not quite a smile.

"The moral of the story is solid," he defended, “we often seek something that was already ours to begin with."

His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it, a meaning I couldn’t quite reach, or maybe I could, but I wasn’t ready to hold it yet.

Neither of us had said anything after that.

I don’t think we needed to.

I never gave the book back.

And now, in the dim glow of my quiet room, decades later, I sit with it in my hands, the pages worn and fragile beneath my touch.

He has been gone for thirty-five years.

There are no echoes of his voice, no lingering traces of magic in the air. Only this book, this last piece of him, of us. Something that never had the chance to become anything at all.

I press it against my ribs, as if I can hold everything inside. The memory, the warmth, the part of me that still, after all these years, doesn’t want to let go.

And for the moment,I let myself grieve something that was never truly mine to lose.

[87percentcreativity]

Awww thank you for tagging me ahaha~😆

These are my 9 characters (I got Snape somehow ahaha😂😆)

And of course a quote~!

And the no pressure tags: @tamayula-hl @anomalyaly @bloodandlegacy and anyone else who wishes to participate!! (And if I accidentally tagged you but you’ve already participated I’m sorry 🫠)

Pinterest game: type “me as a character” and chose first 9 images

type quote after it and pick the first one.

Npt: @mspegasus17 @rypnami @anomalyaly @zetadraconis11 @ps-cactus @bookie-bookdust and YOU 🫵

(Why is this so Jude Duarte coded?) also got images that remind me of Ember and Adelia.

[bloodandlegacy]

“Was I cursed?”

His piercing gaze filled with sorrowful understanding.

“No,” he said simply, his tone carrying a weight beyond the word. “Not cursed. Hurt.”

[bloodandlegacy]

"And if time were different — if it bent to our will instead of its own — I would have never let you go."

[bloodandlegacy]

XXII: The Night Before Forever

March 21, 1891

I cannot control it.

Everything in it.Everything in me.It screams.

The book is useless. I have scoured through it for hours, days, months, searching for something—anything—that would make it all make sense. That would give me an answer. But it only deals in possibilities. It may. It might. It could.

And yet, it could not.

I thought I had time.I told myself I had weeks.That was months ago.

Now, there is nothing left to find. Nothing left to learn.Tomorrow.

The last loose end is the book. I will return it, and then—No matter if Juniper is ready or not—I will go.

Because I have to.Because if I don’t—I fear I never will.

______________________________________________________________

The day passes in pieces.

It slips through my fingers, one moment at a time, and I let it.

I let myself have this.

One last morning in the Great Hall, where Juniper nudges me with her elbow and smirks when she catches me staring too long at my plate, lost in thought. I force a laugh, but she knows me too well. She doesn’t push.

One last afternoon in the Undercroft, where Sebastian sprawls against the stone wall, grinning as he flips his wand between his fingers, effortlessly, recklessly. “We should duel,” he says. ““Unless you’re worried I’ll finally put you in your place.”

I roll my eyes, but I say yes.

He wins. Of course he does. But I don’t make it easy.

Ominis sits in the corner, arms crossed, expression unreadable, though I catch the flicker of amusement when Sebastian nearly eats the floor after dodging a particularly sharp Expelliarmus.

I want to tell them. I want to say it out loud.

That this is goodbye.

That this moment, right here, with the warmth of their laughter echoing in the cavernous space, with the weight of something unspoken pressing against my ribs, will be the last.

But I can’t.

So I just listen. I let them bicker, let them exist in this time where I still belong. Where I am still here.

I don’t realize how late it’s gotten until the castle has begun to quiet.

The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting long shadows against the walls, as if the castle itself knows what’s coming.

Sebastian stretched his arms over his head, yawned obnoxiously, and declared, “I swear, if I hear you pacing past midnight again, Andromeda, I’m hexing your feet to the floor.”

I’d smirked. “As if you could.”

He’d only rolled his eyes, muttering something about stubborn witches before retreating to the boys’ dormitory.

As the door shut behind Sebastian, Ominis moved closer, his presence warm beside me. Without a word, he reached for the book resting in my lap, his fingers brushing mine as he gently closed it. My breath caught, but I didn’t resist when he set it aside.

Ominis pulled me in, careful yet certain, until my head rested against his chest.  My breath caught slightly, surprised by the closeness, by the steady, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear. 

For a moment, I simply listened.

I don’t know what compels me to speak, only that the words rise from somewhere deep within me.

“I love you.”

His heartbeat faltered, a sharp, startled skip.

The silence that followed stretched unbearably long. I could feel his breath against my hair, the way his grip on me tightened ever so slightly. And then—

His fingers tilted my chin up, and before I could think— 

His lips were on mine, hungry, fierce, as if he wished to consume me. I wanted to stay in this moment forever, drinking him in, memorizing every detail. His hand tangled in my hair, firm, dominating yet gentle, holding me to him as his lips claimed mine.

When we finally pulled apart, his breath warm against my skin, “I love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing my forehead in a soft, reverent gesture.

Then, barely above a murmur, he said, “It’s getting late.”

If only he knew this was our last night together. He would stay a little longer

It’s probably better to end the night here. Better to end the night than get swept up in something we can’t take back.

He lingered for a moment before finally standing, and I watched as he disappeared up the stairs.

And I sat there, my lips still tingling, my heart still racing. More torn than ever.

How do you say goodbye to someone you can’t bear to leave?

How do you tell someone that  you will think of them across time itself?

I don’t have the words.

So I settle for something simple. Something he can carry. A letter.

______________________________________________________________

Dear Ominis,

I don’t know how to begin, only that I must. And I must write quickly before I lose the resolve to do what is right.

I love you. I need you to understand that before you read another word. I love you enough to trust you with the truth, even if it means you will hate me for it. I love you enough to ask you to let me go.

My father was Morfin Gaunt, and his father was Marvolo—a name you know well. To you, he is just your younger brother, not yet shaped by the weight of this name. To me, he is a ghost of a future already written, a man who will carry on the worst of our bloodline, who will carve hatred into his own flesh and pass it down like an inheritance. 

I am not just some distant thread of the tapestry. I am its frayed and broken edge, woven in blood and bound in curses. My existence is a paradox, Ominis. I was never meant to be, and yet I am.

Because I do not belong here.

I have not told you everything, but you deserve the truth.

I came to this time through means I shouldn’t have. I used a time-turner, a relic that has pulled me from the world I know, and brought me here. I have tried, Ominis. I have tried to ignore the ticking of time unraveling beneath my feet. But every day I stay here, I am defying something far greater than magic.

I cannot stay.

I wish I could be standing before you as you read this. I would give anything to take your hand, to make you understand that this does not change what I have been to you. That I am still me, the girl who sat with you in the Undercroft, who laughed with you in quiet corridors, who trusted you when she trusted no one else.

But there is no place for me in this time. No place for us.

I didn’t want to hurt you. That was never supposed to happen. But you have to listen to me now. You cannot come looking for me. Promise me, Ominis. Swear it.

I know you. I know the way your mind works, the way your loyalty binds you to those you love. And that is why I am afraid. Because if you search for me, you will ruin yourself in the process.

So let me be a ghost. Let me become nothing more than a story you tell yourself when the nights are too long and your heart aches for something lost. Hate me if you must, but do not follow me.

You once asked me if I believed in fate. If I thought we were meant to meet, meant to be part of each other’s lives. I told you I didn’t know.

I know now.

We were always meant to meet, Ominis. But we were never meant to last.

You told me that love was not meant to be cruel. That it should not hurt like this. Perhaps that is true. But I have never known love that was not tied to suffering. And this—this is the cruelest love of all.

So I will say it once more, so that there is no doubt, no room for questions or second guesses:

I love you, Ominis Gaunt. But I am leaving.

And you must let me.

Yours in another life,

Andromeda

[bloodandlegacy]

The Obscurus stirred, its dark tendrils twisting into serpentine shapes, their emerald eyes gleaming as they hissed faintly: 'Kill.'

[bloodandlegacy]

XIV: Ties That Bind

The Scriptorium loomed ahead, its entrance a gaping maw carved into the ancient stone, the serpentine designs etched around it appearing almost alive. As I crossed the threshold, the air seemed to change, thickening with the weight of centuries. Every step reverberated faintly, swallowed by the vast, oppressive silence, as though the chamber itself was listening. Shadows danced wildly along the walls, cast by flickering torches that illuminated the intricate carvings of coiled snakes and runes etched into every surface.

The chamber stretched before us in grand, almost suffocating detail, its towering vaulted ceilings disappearing into shadow. Serpents adorned every corner, their stone forms coiled with predatory grace, emerald eyes glowing faintly and casting an eerie green hue onto the polished stone floor. Rows of carved runes lined the walls in perfectly symmetrical panels, each one glowing softly as though imbued with a subtle, ancient magic. The air hummed with power, a pulsing energy that pressed against my skin like an invisible hand, heavy and unrelenting.

The pedestal at the chamber's heart stood bathed in an unnatural glow, a beacon in the vast darkness. Crafted of silver and green, its serpentine designs seemed to ripple and shift under the dim light. Atop it sat a book, its leather cover cracked with age, the serpent emblem embossed upon it gleaming faintly. The emerald eyes of the serpent seemed to meet mine, and I could almost feel it watching, sentient and aware of our intrusion.

Ominis moved with unsettling ease, his pale eyes unseeing yet so certain, as though the darkness of this place was an extension of himself. His wand cast a steady glow, the light grazing the carved runes on the floor as he moved. He paused near the center of the chamber, tilting his head as though listening to something I couldn’t hear. The way he carried himself here—so composed, so sure—was both reassuring and unnerving. This place belonged to him as much as it belonged to me.

I followed his gaze back to the pedestal. The chamber felt alive, its magic seeping into the very air we breathed, sharp and metallic, tinged faintly with the coppery scent of blood. Every detail of this place screamed of Slytherin’s power—his pride, his grandeur, and his darkness.

I approached it, each step heavier than the last, the magic in the room sharpening, focusing on me. When I reached the pedestal, I hesitated. My fingers hovered just above the surface of the book. The leather felt impossibly old, the texture worn smooth in some places, brittle and rough in others. The faint hum of power curled at the edges of my awareness, beckoning me to open it.

A whisper of magic stirred through the room, subtle but undeniable. The torches flared, their light casting wild, flickering shadows across the walls. The serpentine designs seemed to writhe in the chaos, as though alive. I pulled my hand back instinctively, my heart racing.

I turned to Ominis, my voice barely above a whisper. “What is this place?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestured toward the book, his wandlight reflecting off the serpent’s gleaming eyes. “Take it,” he said quietly, his tone walking the line between firm and hesitant. “It’s why we’re here.”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. The weight of the room, of the magic and the history it carried, pressed down on me. “Why?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it.

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Because it’s meant for you,” he said, his voice softer now. “I thought… I thought if we brought it to Sebastian, it might help him. That it might settle him. But now…” He hesitated, his voice quieter. “Now I think you need it more.”

The weight of Ominis’s words pressed into the air between us, filling the silence like an unspoken truth. He wasn’t just saying I needed it. He was saying something far more deliberate.

His pale eyes seemed to search the air between us, unseeing but steady. “I’ve heard stories about Salazar Slytherin’s magic,” he continued, his voice quieter now, careful. “The kind of magic that wasn’t taught at Hogwarts. Blood Curses. The kind of curses that don’t just hurt someone—they stay with you. They twist you, become part of you.” His tone grew heavier. “Darkness that feeds on itself.”

My throat tightened, the essence of the room’s magic pressing harder against my skin. His words didn’t need to be explicit—I already knew what he was implying.

“You think it’s the same magic,” I said finally, my voice low, the truth settling over me like stone.

“If it is the same magic,” I murmured, “then what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Learn,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “Learn to control it completely—before it consumes you.”

His words hung heavy between us, the inevitability of them sinking into my chest. For a moment, I didn’t move, the spellbook pulsing faintly in my hands.

Then his voice softened, the edge falling away. “There’s another reason I brought you here.”

I blinked, his words cutting through the tension. “Another?”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine as he spoke. “I needed you to see the darkness Slytherin demanded of his family. What it meant to cast a curse like that on someone you care about. To be willing to do it without a second thought.” His jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s not a darkness I could ever want to be part of.”

The words hung in the air, weighted and unyielding. His hand lingered near mine, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. The silence stretched, charged with unspoken thoughts.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the look on his face stopped me. There was something raw there, an openness I hadn’t seen before—something unguarded and fragile. His pale eyes seemed to search for something in the air between us, something he was too afraid to say aloud.

He took another step forward, closing the distance between us until I could feel the faint brush of his robes against mine. The room around us seemed to fall away, the magic of the Scriptorium dimming into a distant thrum.

“You hesitated,” he said, as though the admission cost him something. “When you could have just cast that curse on me, you hesitated.” He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. “That told me everything I needed to know.”

His hand brushed mine again, deliberate and steady, and I didn’t pull away. My heart quickened, heat rushing through me like wildfire. I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but the words wouldn’t come. The intensity of his presence, the weight of his voice, stole them from me.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was electric. He didn’t move, didn’t push, just stood there, waiting. And in that moment, I realized the choice wasn’t his to make. It was mine.

My thoughts spun, flickering back over the weeks that had led to this moment—the way his voice softened when he spoke to me, the way his hand lingered just a second too long. Juniper had told me not to read into it, not to entertain it. “It’s Ominis,” she’d said, exasperated, the way she always was when she thought I’d lost all sense. “And he’s your great-uncle, Andromeda. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

And yet here I was, not just entertaining the thought, but breathing life into it.

I let out a shaky breath, my grip tightening on the book—not to anchor myself, but to stop my hands from reaching for him. The fire that had been smoldering inside me ignited fully, raw and unrelenting.

Ominis’s fingers brushed mine a third time, and this time I met him halfway. His touch was steady, and impossibly warm. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur, the edges of his words brushing against my skin.

“I’ve spent weeks wondering,” he said, his tone low and vulnerable. “If I mattered. If you cared. And now…” He hesitated, his fingers curling lightly around mine. “Now, I know.”

Before I could speak, before I could think, it happened—like two planets, never meant to share the same orbit, colliding in a moment of impossible magic. His hand found my face with a gentleness that defied the chaos between us, and then his lips met mine. The kiss was not just a touch but an alignment, a quiet eruption of something far greater than either of us, as though the universe itself had conspired to bring us together in that single, unrepeatable moment.

The kiss was raw and consuming, as though the universe had conspired to align forces that were never meant to collide. I kissed him back, the weight of weeks of doubt and restraint dissolving as I leaned into him fully.

His lips were warm and insistent, but not forceful, like a whispered invitation I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting for. My free hand moved almost instinctively, rising to his chest. Beneath the soft fabric of his robes, I could feel the steady, wild rhythm of his heartbeat, mirroring my own.

The kiss deepened, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything—Slytherin, the Scriptorium, the blood curses that haunted both of us—dissolved into nothingness. It was just him and me, untethered from the shadows of our legacies, igniting a spark that felt like an unbreakable bond.

His other hand slid into my hair, his fingers tangling in the waves with a desperation that mirrored the longing in my chest. It felt as though he had been fighting this as much as I had, as though every touch was an attempt to erase the distance between us. The rawness of it was overwhelming, yet I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

The air in the chamber seemed to shift around us, the oppressive magic receding as though the room itself had stepped back to give us this moment. 

When we finally broke apart, his breath lingered against my skin, warm and uneven, a fragile thread that kept us tethered. My pulse thundered in my chest, every beat amplified by the charged silence between us. Neither of us moved, caught in the fragile space that had formed between what we’d done and what came next.

I felt him hesitate, his hand still cradling my face, his thumb brushing softly along my cheek. His touch lingered but I could feel the tension in him—the way he seemed torn between stepping back and giving in.

And then he leaned in again, his lips finding mine with a gentleness that left me breathless. This kiss was slower, as though he was trying to commit the moment to memory. My hand curled into the front of his robes, holding him there as though I could stop time, stop him from pulling away again.

When he pulled back, it was gradual, his hand slipping from my face but pausing near my wrist, his fingers brushing against my skin as though he wasn’t quite ready to let go. The air between us felt charged, alive, but unspoken words lingered in his expression.

“We should go,” he said softly, his voice uneven, as though the moment still held him as tightly as I had.

I nodded, though my voice didn’t come. The spellbook pressed tightly against my chest, its hum faint now, overpowered by the heat still spreading through me.

As we turned toward the doorway, the shadows of the Scriptorium seemed to retreat, though the weight of what had passed between us clung to the air. Even as we stepped into the cold corridors of Hogwarts, I felt the warmth of his touch lingering—a presence that I knew wouldn’t easily fade.

______________

The corridor stretched before us, silent except for the soft echo of our footsteps. The tension in the air lingered, unspoken but undeniable.

Ominis walked just ahead of me, his wandlight casting shifting shadows along the walls. I could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against the silence between us.

“You can’t tell Sebastian about this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm. 

“I agree,” I said softly. “It’s best if we don’t tell him anything. Not yet.”

Ominis slowed slightly, tilting his head toward me. “Anything?” he asked, his tone quieter now, layered with a question that I knew wasn’t just about Sebastian.

The word lingered in the air, and I knew what he was asking without him needing to explain. “Anything… anything?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for the briefest moment, I saw the hint of a smile play across his face. “We should both take some time before we make decisions like that,” he said, his voice tinged with something lighter, though the weight of his words was still there. “After all, we are related… though I’m still not entirely sure how.”

I couldn’t help the small breath of laughter that escaped me, though it was tinged with a nervous edge. The moment felt delicate, fragile, like stepping too far in any direction might shatter it entirely.

We fell into silence again as we rounded the final corner. The staircase leading to the Slytherin common room stretched before us, the flickering light of the torches casting long shadows. The warmth of the fire reached me before I saw it, the faint murmur of voices growing clearer with every step.

Ominis descended first, his wandlight steady, and I followed. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, my gaze landed on Sebastian. He sat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, his figure silhouetted against the dancing flames. He turned slightly at the sound of our approach, and I felt the spellbook grow heavier in my arms.

“And where have you two been?” Sebastian’s voice cut through the warmth of the common room, sharp and edged with suspicion. He stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, his figure silhouetted against the flickering flames.

Ominis didn’t flinch. He turned his back to Sebastian with ease, his demeanor calm, composed—too composed. He leaned in toward me, his voice so low it barely carried. “Take the spellbook and go.”

The steadiness of his tone left no room for argument, but before I could move, his hand brushed mine, lingering just a moment too long. Then, in one smooth, deliberate motion, he bent his head and pressed a featherlight kiss to my temple.

The gesture sent a jolt through me, my breath catching in my throat as he straightened. The warmth of his lips lingered, an imprint that burned hotter than the fire crackling just feet away.

“Goodnight, Ominis,” I said, my voice unsteady, dazed as if the room had tilted slightly off its axis.

“Goodnight, Andromeda,” Sebastian called after me, his tone dripping with suspicion.

Sebastian took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Well?”

Ominis didn’t flinch. He turned slowly, his movements deliberate, like a chess player placing a final piece. “Does it matter?” he said, tilting his head slightly, his tone slicing through the tension.

Sebastian faltered, his irritation twisting into confusion. “Of course it—”

“Go to bed,” Ominis interrupted, his voice dropping to a cool, final note.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Ominis interrupted smoothly, his brow lifting in a perfect imitation of annoyance. “You would’ve been wandering these halls all night if I hadn’t noticed you weren’t in bed. Again.”

“Me? Wandering? I came out because—wait, what are you—” Sebastian stammered, his composure faltering under Ominis’s sharp deflection.

“Honestly,” Ominis continued, his tone clipped and cutting, “these bouts of sleepwalking are becoming a nuisance. You never remember what you’re doing or why.”

“Sleepwalking?” Sebastian spluttered, his voice rising. “That’s ridiculous, even for you, Ominis. Where were you really?” His frustration spilling over. “And what’s so important that she’s sneaking around with you this late?”

As their voices faded into the background, I slipped into my room and leaned against the door, exhaling shakily. The spellbook thrummed faintly, but it wasn’t the book or Ominis’s kiss that kept me awake long after the firelight died. It was Sebastian’s stare—sharp, calculating, and far too curious.

The room was cold, the stone walls doing little to hold the warmth of the fire beyond the door. I set the spellbook carefully on my desk before sinking onto the edge of my bed, my mind spinning.

Ominis’s voice echoed in my ears—the quiet insistence of his words, the warmth in the way he’d said my name. And that kiss… I reached up, my fingertips brushing the spot on my temple where his lips had lingered. The heat of it hadn’t faded, no matter how much I tried to focus on the spellbook or the Scriptorium or anything else.

The way he’d pulled me close, his hands finding me like they’d always known the way. The firm warmth of his grip as he guided me, the tension in his movements betraying the calm he tried so hard to maintain. His lips had been softer than I’d imagined—no, softer than I’d let myself imagine, because I’d sworn I wouldn’t let myself think of him that way. But now… now there was no pretending.

I could still feel the ghost of his kiss, the way his lips pressed against mine as if surrendering to a moment he could no longer control. It was raw, unguarded, and it left a part of him with me that neither of us could take back. His taste lingered on my lips—warm, subtly sweet, and achingly unexpected. His scent clung to me like a whispered memory, warm and intimate, a blend of earth and light—soft lavender and amber, with fleeting notes of sweetness that felt like the promise of something eternal.

And his voice—low, steady, and impossibly close—still echoed in my ears. The way he’d said my name, like it was more than just a name to him. The way his breath had brushed against my skin, warm and uneven, as if the kiss had undone him as much as it had undone me.

As I lay back against the pillows, my fingertips drifted to my lips, the memory of his touch as vivid as if he were still standing in front of me. My chest tightened, my thoughts tangled with the weight of everything that had passed between us.

The Scriptorium. The spellbook. The kiss. It all felt impossibly intertwined, bound together by something I wasn’t ready to name.

What unsettled me most wasn’t the kiss itself, or even how much I’d wanted it—it was the way he’d held me after. His hands had been steady, grounding, as though he’d always meant to hold me that way. It wasn’t just passion or longing—it was something deeper, something that felt as dangerous as it was intoxicating.

I pressed my hand flat against the spellbook, its faint hum curling through my fingertips like a quiet reminder. This magic—it had a hold on me now, as undeniable as the memory of him.

I wasn’t sure what came next. All I knew was that I didn’t want this to end. Not the kiss, not the connection we’d shared, not the sense that, for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t facing all of this alone.

[bloodandlegacy]

XII: Bonds Forged in Fire

The journey back to the castle was steeped in silence, my thoughts spinning in endless circles. The relic—a tool that could undo pain. Could it undo the Obscurus? Could it save me? The questions refused to settle. What might it do for Anne? Could Isidora’s magic be tied to it? And if it was, did the Keepers know about it? The more I dwelled on it, the more convinced I became that ancient magic held the answers I needed. But answers required patience, and patience required planning.

Ominis was key to everything. If I was going to succeed, I needed his trust. The idea of apologizing churned my stomach, but sometimes pride had to take a backseat to necessity. I didn’t need him to like me—I just needed him on my side.

By the time we reached the castle, the halls were eerily quiet, the hour well past curfew. Shadows stretched long and thin along the walls as Sebastian and I slipped into the Slytherin common room. The dim, emerald glow of the fireplace cast everything in an otherworldly light, and there, seated near the hearth, was Ominis. His posture was stiff, his voice low but sharp, slicing through the stillness like a blade.

“Reckless. Impulsive. No better than he is,” he muttered, each word dripping with frustration.

Sebastian stopped beside me, his jaw tightening. A faint smirk flickered across his lips, though I could see the tension in his shoulders. “Time to put this to rest,” he murmured, his voice steady but low. “Let me start things off.”

Before I could respond, Sebastian stepped forward, his stride confident, his purpose clear. The firelight flickered across his face, casting sharp shadows that deepened the intensity in his expression. He stopped a few paces from Ominis, who remained motionless, staring straight ahead at the flames.

“Ominis,” Sebastian began, his voice calm but deliberate. “I know I push too far. I test your patience, and I don’t always think things through. But I never act out of carelessness. Everything I do is because I believe it’s the only way forward.”

Ominis’s fingers tightened slightly on the armrests, his posture still rigid but not as unyielding.

Sebastian’s voice softened. “I’ve always trusted your judgment. I just wish you could trust mine.”

Ominis turned his head slightly toward Sebastian, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

“We’re better together than apart,” Sebastian added. “You know that as well as I do.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low. Whatever he said next was too quiet for me to hear, but it made Ominis pause, his grip on the armrests loosening as his expression softened, his head bowing slightly.

Sebastian straightened and turned toward the dormitories, pausing only to glance back at me. “Your turn,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Good luck.”

I hesitated for a moment, watching Ominis as he sat rigid in his chair. His face was turned toward the fire, but there was a tension in his jaw, a guardedness that warned me to tread carefully. Still, I crossed the room and lowered myself into the chair opposite him.

The warmth of the fire did little to soften the chill between us.

“Do you plan to stay all night?” I asked lightly, though my tone carried an edge of challenge.

His head turned slightly. “I don’t have much to say to you, Andromeda,” he said coldly. “You and Sebastian are a perfect match—reckless, short-sighted, and entirely too arrogant to see the damage you’re doing.”

Sebastian, stopped in the doorway. His tone was sharp, cutting through the thick tension as he crossed his arms and snapped, "Ominis, what did I just say?"

Ominis stiffened, taking a slow, measured breath before responding, his voice strained but contrite. “Fine.” He turned his attention back to the fire, his jaw tight. “I’ll start again.”

“You don’t understand what you’re involving yourself in,” Ominis said abruptly, his voice low but resolute. “The Scriptorium isn’t just a gateway to power—it’s a trap. It’s darkness wrapped in promise, and once you’re in, there’s no escaping it.”

I narrowed my eyes, my tone edged with defiance. “You think I don’t know darkness, Ominis? I’ve lived it. I’ve felt it.”

His head turned toward me sharply, his pale eyes narrowing as though trying to see through my words. “Have you?” he asked, his voice soft but cutting. “Because if you had, you wouldn’t be rushing toward it so blindly.”

I hesitated, watching Ominis as he sat rigid in his chair, the firelight casting shadows across his features. His words echoed in my mind—about darkness, about the Scriptorium, about me not knowing what I was getting into. 

The question hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. My first instinct was to lash out, to match his coldness with fire, but his words struck a nerve I couldn’t ignore. Did I truly know the darkness I claimed to understand? Did I fully grasp what I was chasing in this legacy, this name? My jaw tightened as I stared at him, his gaze fixed in my direction, unwavering and accusatory.

Ominis drew a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he broke the silence. “Do you want to know what it means to embrace darkness, Andromeda? What it truly asks of you?” He leaned forward, his expression unguarded for the first time. “When I was a boy, my family wanted me to prove my loyalty, to embrace the Gaunt legacy they so treasured. They forced me to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Muggles—any Muggle. When I refused, they decided I needed to learn obedience.” His hands rested on the armrests of his chair, white-knuckled as though bracing against a memory. “They cast it on me, over and over again, until I thought I’d lose my mind.”

The room seemed to contract around his words, the crackling of the fire suddenly louder, harsher. My throat tightened, but I couldn’t speak. His anguish hung in the air, a dark, suffocating shroud.

And then, in that oppressive silence, I saw her—Merope.

The memory surged forward like a rising tide, swallowing me whole. Merope, crouched in the dirt, her frail body trembling as Marvolo’s cold eyes bore into her. His voice echoed in my mind, venomous and cruel. “You filthy Squib!” he had roared, before raising his wand and casting the curse.

I had watched it unfold, helpless as her screams tore through the darkness, as Morfin sneered, as Marvolo's wand sparked again with the sickening green light of another Crucio. I remembered the twisted satisfaction on their faces and the horror that had gripped me. And yet, I hadn’t intervened. I had run—fled toward the distant lights of the town, my heart pounding, my breath ragged, desperate to escape the sound of her cries.

Even now, I could hear those screams, a phantom echo in the firelit room. Ominis’s words merged with the memory, blurring time and place until they were one.

This was what it meant to be a Gaunt. To be crushed beneath the weight of power twisted into cruelty.

His voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “You think you’re chasing strength, but do you even understand the cost? Do you know what this so-called legacy demands of you?”

I flinched at his words, but I couldn’t look away. He wasn’t speaking out of judgment. This was something deeper—pain, fear, and perhaps even a warning.

Why was I so desperate to prove myself, to clutch this lineage as though it were my salvation? Was it truly pride, or something more? Images flickered through my mind—the cold indifference of my adoptive mother, the punishment for every act of defiance, the loneliness of a childhood spent on the outside of every door. I had spent years as nothing, as no one. And now, with the Gaunt name, I was someone. I mattered.

But could I explain that to Ominis, of all people? Could I make him understand without exposing the scars I wasn’t ready to reveal?

My hands gripped the armrests tightly, as though bracing myself for a fall.

“I didn’t grow up with this,” I said suddenly, my voice quiet but steady. The words surprised even me, as though they had clawed their way out without permission.

His head turned slightly, though his expression softened ever so slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone cautious but curious.

“I didn’t grow up knowing I came from magic,” I said, leaning forward, my words deliberate now. “I didn’t know about the Gaunt name or what it meant. For so long, I thought I was… nothing. Just a girl in a cruel world with no control.”

Ominis’s brows furrowed, his guarded expression faltering. “You didn’t know you were a Gaunt?”

“I didn’t even know I was a witch. And when I finally found out who I was—what I was—there seemed to be only one choice. To be proud. To embrace the name. To carry it like armor.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his head tilting as though searching for a deeper truth in my words. “And you think pride in the name will protect you?” he asked softly, his voice almost gentle, as though he were trying to pry the answer from somewhere deeper than words.

“What else is there?” I shot back, my frustration sharpening my voice. “The Gaunt name isn’t just a legacy—it’s power. These curses, Ominis… they’re not just about cruelty. They can be used for justice.”

His head turned slightly, his pale eyes narrowing with a quiet intensity that made my pulse quicken. “Justice?” he echoed, the disbelief in his tone cutting sharper than any accusation. “What’s just about inflicting pain without mercy?”

“It depends on who it’s used on,” I said, my voice steady, though my hands tightened in my lap. “Other pure-blood families use the Unforgivables on Muggles. They always have.”

Ominis didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond me. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost as though he were talking to himself. “You didn’t grow up with this,” he said, the words heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. “You didn’t inherit the traditions, the expectations, the weight of it all.”

“No,” I admitted, my tone softening. “But now that I know, I can’t let it go. It’s part of me.”

Ominis sat quietly for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, a decision settling in his pale eyes. “I’ll show you the Scriptorium,” he said finally. “But on my time. When I think you’re ready.”

Relief coursed through me, though I kept my expression neutral. “And when will that be?” I asked, tilting my head.

He smirked faintly, his tone turning lighter. “When I’m convinced you won’t set off every trap Salazar Slytherin left behind. The school year just started, Andromeda. Let me at least finish my homework before risking my life.”

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “Of course.”

“And,” he added, leaning back with a mock air of superiority, “I’d suggest spending some time improving your Potions. Frankly, they’re an embarrassment to the Gaunt name.”

I blinked at him, caught between annoyance and amusement. “My Potions? Really?”

“Yes,” he said with mock severity. “Even I could tell your last attempt was disastrous—and I’m blind.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m realistic,” he corrected, smirking. “If you’re going to carry the Gaunt name so proudly, at least make sure your potions won’t kill someone.”

“Fine,” I said, standing from the chair. “I’ll work on my Potions. But don’t think I’m letting you forget this conversation.”

Ominis’s smirk softened, a hint of genuine warmth behind it. “Be patient, Andromeda. Power isn’t about rushing forward—it’s about knowing when to wait.”

Brushing my robes as I turned toward the door, but a thought stopped me in my tracks. I glanced back at Ominis, who still sat by the fire, his expression unreadable.

“Ominis,” I began, my voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

He tilted his head slightly, his pale eyes fixed somewhere near the fire. “Yes?”

“Will you…” I hesitated, unsure how to phrase it. “Will you keep this between us? What I told you tonight?”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his tone remained calm. “You don’t want Sebastian to know?”

I shook my head, stepping closer. “He thinks highly of me because of the Gaunt legacy,” I admitted. “He sees me as someone who upholds it, who honors it. If he knew I didn’t grow up with it—if he knew how little I understood at first—he’d think less of me.”

Ominis was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “You think Sebastian would care about that?” he asked softly, his tone less sharp, more curious. “You’re giving him too little credit.”

“It’s not about caring,” I replied, my voice quieter now. “It’s about respect. He respects me because he thinks I’m everything the Gaunt name stands for. If he knew the truth, I don’t know if he’d look at me the same way.”

Ominis sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Sebastian admires strength, Andromeda—not perfection. He wouldn’t think less of you for not being what he assumes.”

I frowned, his words settling uneasily in my chest. “Maybe,” I said finally, my voice uncertain. “But for now… please.”

Ominis nodded, his expression softening slightly. “If that’s what you want, I’ll keep it between us.”

Relief washed over me, though it felt fragile, like the balance I’d struck was only temporary. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

“Goodnight, Ominis,” I said softly, the weight of unspoken understanding threading through my voice. My gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or a reflection of the trust I wasn’t sure I’d earned.

“Goodnight, Andromeda,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost warm.

As I stepped out into the cool corridor, his words lingered, intertwining with my own thoughts. I wasn’t ready for the truth to be laid bare—not to Sebastian, and perhaps not even to myself. But for tonight, I could leave it in Ominis’s hands and hold onto the delicate balance I’d built. For now, it would have to be enough.

[bloodandlegacy]

Then I heard him—Myrtle passed by, head ducked low, and he muttered, “Mudblood.” The word hit like a spark in dry kindling, igniting the fury I’d held back. The air felt thick, pressing against my skin, and I clenched my fists, willing myself to keep control.

I looked him up and down, ensuring the look of disgust on my face remained unwavering. “Curious, isn’t it,” I said, letting my voice cut through the hum of conversation, “that someone so obsessed with purity should be a half-blood himself.”

The corridor fell silent, heads turning toward us. Tom’s gaze shifted to me, his initial smirk dismissive. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly, as though I were just another name to cross off his list of admirers.

I held his gaze, allowing a pause to stretch between us before I answered. “Andromeda Gaunt.” The name fell like a stone, and I watched, satisfaction flickering as his smirk faltered, a barely noticeable fracture in his polished mask.

His expression sharpened, his mask of civility slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of something raw and unsettled. My anger surged, the magic in me clawing to escape, to shatter the air around us, but I forced it back, my face impassive.

“Perhaps you’ve been misinformed,” he replied, his voice smooth, though each word held venom he struggled to hide. His eyes held a cold warning, a flash of irritation barely concealed beneath his charm. “The Gaunts, was it? I’d expect more respect for our traditions.”

“Oh, I know our traditions well enough,” I replied, barely containing my contempt. “But it’s interesting, isn’t it—how some cling to purity even when they don’t fully belong.” I let my gaze linger on him, cold and unyielding. “A half-blood, born from a Muggle father and a mother whose power was so weak, it barely kept her alive.”

His mask fractured, his eyes narrowing as he struggled to keep his composure. I caught the crack in his perfect image, the brief flash of anger he could barely contain, and a surge of satisfaction rushed through me. I held his gaze, unblinking, letting the contempt in my expression linger before I turned on my heel. Around us, the students shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension thickening in the air.

He leaned closer, his voice a low murmur that barely reached my ears. “Careful,” he warned, his tone laced with malice. “Some things are best left unsaid.”

I met his gaze, letting a small, mocking smile flicker across my lips. “I think I’ve said it all, Tom.”

[bloodandlegacy]

And then I saw it all—the scene unfolding before me like a nightmarish vision in slow motion. He stood at the center of the room, an imposing figure draped in shadows, his presence filling the space with a sinister elegance. The flickering candlelight cast haunting reflections on his sharp features, illuminating his face in an eerie glow. All around him, bodies lay scattered like discarded puppets, lifeless, their expressions locked in terror, mouths open in silent screams.

[bloodandlegacy]

Blood & Legacy: Part II

Coming December 13, 2024

[bloodandlegacy]

XIV: Retribution

I barely remembered the trek back to the Slytherin common room. My feet moved automatically, the stone corridors blurring around me as my thoughts churned. My father had been dead for a year before I set foot in Hogwarts. A year. The knowledge seared through me, an unrelenting inferno of fury and grief. Tom Riddle had stolen everything—my family, my father’s legacy, and even the chance to mourn him.

The time-turner felt light, mocking the weight of my decision. Its smooth edges pressed against my palm, icy and resolute. I spun it twice, and the world folded in on itself like a collapsing star. When the dizziness passed, I stood in the term after that cursed summer—when Tom framed my father for the Riddle murders.

This wasn’t the moment for confrontation, not yet. I couldn’t risk tearing apart the delicate threads of time, but every fiber of my being screamed for vengeance. Instead, I stayed in the shadows, watching his every move. By day, I tracked him unseen in the corridors. By night, I retreated to the Room of Requirement, the walls echoing my darkest thoughts. Days turned into a tense waiting game. My patience would pay off. It had to.

Every so often, I saw Myrtle drifting aimlessly through the castle—a reminder of our last conversation. She had tried, in her strange way, to talk me out of using the Dark Arts. For a moment, her words had given me pause. But then I’d remember Tom’s smirk, his disdainful voice dismissing my father as nothing, and my resolve burned anew.

I rehearsed my confrontation with him endlessly, imagining the words that would wound him most. "Half-breed" was the sharpest dagger I could wield, and I knew it would cut deep.

It didn’t take long to discover his peculiar habit of frequenting the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. Myrtle had mentioned it during her time at Hogwarts—a place rarely used, save for brewing illicit potions. The thought of being in such close quarters with him unnerved me, but curiosity won.

One evening, cloaked under a disillusionment charm, I followed him into the deserted bathroom. My heart hammered against my ribs, every creak of the floor amplifying the silence of the castle. I hovered just inside the doorway, watching as he stood before the sinks, his head bent low.

At first, his whispers were barely audible, but as I crept closer, they grew louder—harsher, until the air itself seemed to shudder. Parseltongue. The realization sent a chill down my spine. This was my legacy, the language of my ancestors, yet it sounded foreign and incomprehensible. Shame battled with anger, twisting into something sharper. He had stolen even this from me.

Then, I felt it.

A dark, writhing force clawed at the edges of my mind, demanding release. My chest tightened as the air thickened, heavy with an unseen menace. I staggered, gripping the wall to steady myself, as an icy tendril of fear slithered up my spine. This wasn’t my magic—not the controlled, disciplined energy I’d learned to wield. It was wild, chaotic, and alive.

For a brief, terrible moment, it felt as though the shadows themselves were reaching for me, their whispers tangling with his Parseltongue in a symphony of menace. I clenched my fists, willing the sensation away, but it coiled tighter, waiting. Watching. It wasn’t just in the room—it was inside me.

The hiss of his words grew faster, more commanding, until the ground beneath him shifted. The sink slid aside, revealing a gaping hole that plunged into darkness. My breath caught as the sound of grinding stone echoed through the room, ancient mechanisms awakened by his magic. He stepped forward without hesitation, vanishing into the abyss.

I hesitated for only a moment before following, my grip on my wand tightening as I approached the edge. Peering into the void, I saw a faint green glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. Swallowing my fear, I stepped in, descending deeper into the Chamber of Secrets.

The air grew colder as I went, heavy with magic so ancient it pulsed through the walls. Each step echoed like a drumbeat, amplifying the vast silence. Ahead, I heard his voice, a melodic hiss awakening something dormant in the chamber itself.

When I reached the bottom, the sight before me stole my breath. The chamber was massive, its arched ceilings adorned with serpent carvings that twisted and coiled in frozen motion. At the far end stood a towering statue of Salazar Slytherin, his face severe and his stone gaze piercing. Power radiated from the place, settling into my very bones. The walls seemed alive, watching, judging.

Tom stood before the statue, his back to me, hissing in that cursed language. The words poured from him with a fluidity that made my anger boil. This was my birthright, not his. I had grown up knowing nothing of this chamber, nothing of the power it held. And yet here he was, claiming it as his own.

Then I felt it again. A shadow, writhing and pulsing within me, scraping at the barriers I’d spent years building. My breath short as I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, willing it to subside. Whatever it was, it terrified me.

Myrtle’s stories flashed in my mind—the boy she described, the chamber he had opened, the serpent he commanded. The pieces fell into place with chilling clarity. This wasn’t just any chamber. This was the chamber. And I… I was the true heir of Slytherin. That knowledge settled over me—heavy, but fitting.

Pressing myself against a stone pillar, I watched him. What secrets was he coaxing from this place? Then I saw it—a faint ripple in the shadows. A massive serpent slithered deeper into the chamber. The basilisk.

Fear clawed at me, but I shoved it aside. This chamber wasn’t just his sanctuary. It was his throne, and he had sat on it unchallenged for far too long. Tonight, that would change.

I shed the disillusionment charm and stepped forward, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Imperio.”

The command was immediate. His words stopped, his body stiffened, and he turned to face me. For the first time, I saw something unexpected in his expression—fear. I advanced, my wand steady, my rage unshackled at last.

“Look at me,” I spat, my voice dripping with venom. “You worthless half-breed.”

I lifted the curse for a moment, watching him regain his composure. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, his movements deliberate despite the strain, and then his smirk returned. It was that same smirk—arrogant, knowing, infuriating. “How quaint,” he drawled, his voice dripping with venom. “A few spells, a bit of theatrics. Is that all you’ve brought to this fight? Cheap parlor tricks and borrowed power?”

He stepped forward, his dark eyes gleaming with disdain. “You really think you can stand against me? You don’t even understand what you’re wielding, do you? You’re a child grasping at shadows, desperate to prove you’re more than the mediocrity you were born into.”

The words cut deep, but I refused to flinch. He tilted his head, his expression sharpening, dissecting me as if I were nothing more than an experiment gone wrong. “What will you do when the fire you’re playing with consumes you?” His smirk widened into something cruel, predatory. “When there’s no one left to save you, least of all yourself?”

I gritted my teeth, gripping my wand tighter. “You talk too much, Riddle.”

“Do I?” His voice softened into a mockery of pity. “And what about your father? What do you think he’d say if he saw you now? Pathetic, trembling, breaking under the weight of something you’ll never truly control.”

His words slid through me, deliberate and sharp. “He was a fool,” he continued, his tone laced with contempt. “Weak. Sniveling. Unworthy of the bloodline he carried. Just like his daughter. Is it any wonder he fell so easily? He was disposable. And so are you.”

My breath hitched, fury clawing its way to the surface. The chamber seemed to respond to the storm inside me. The air thickened, charged, the serpents etched into the walls shimmering as though stirred by my anger. The edges of my vision blurred as the darkness swelled, no longer contained. It wasn’t just within me anymore—it was around me. A shadow made manifest, clawing at the air, twisting reality into chaos.

The tendrils of darkness slithered outward, warping the light, and I realized with a cold dread that it was alive. It wasn’t just anger or power—it was something deeper, something primal. It wasn’t mine to command, but it had latched onto me, feeding on my fury, growing stronger with every breath I took.

Tom hesitated for a fraction of a second, his smirk faltering as he glanced at the roiling chaos around me. But then, his arrogance returned, his voice cutting through the storm. “So there it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The great Andromeda Gaunt, reduced to a vessel for chaos she can’t even control.”

The words stung, but I refused to let them land. I lifted my head, the shadows swirling around me, and forced my voice into something steady and sharp. “Reduced? No, Riddle. You think this is chaos? This is power. My power.”

The storm around me began to slow, the writhing darkness curling inward as it was listening, responding. The air grew heavy, not with unchecked destruction, but with deliberate intent. I could feel it—a dark force simmering beneath my skin, a force that wasn’t controlling me but waiting for my command.

Tom’s smirk faded entirely, unease flickering across his face. He stepped back instinctively, his composure cracking under the weight of what he saw. I matched his gaze, my voice lowering to a near-whisper, every word laced with quiet menace.

“You want to talk about control, Tom? Look closely. I’m not the one who’s afraid anymore.”

The chamber seemed to hold its breath, the lingering tendrils of shadow receding slightly but never fully vanishing, a predator circling its prey. My grip tightened on my wand as the silence grew, his hesitation giving me the upper hand.

This wasn’t about chaos. It was retribution.

“Crucio!” The curse exploded from my wand, the green light of the spell casting long shadows across the chamber. Tom fell to his knees, his body convulsing as the spell tore through him. His arrogance crumbled, replaced by a raw, visceral pain.

Through the piercing green light of the chamber, I held the Cruciatus Curse steady, the surge of magic coursing through me intoxicating. Tom Riddle writhed before me, his arrogance unraveling under my power. For the first time, I was not a shadow of my lineage—I was its wrath.

But I didn’t stop.

“Crucio!” I snarled again, the word ripping from my throat with a rawness that startled even me. His screams tore through the chamber, echoing off the serpent-carved walls as the darkness around me swelled. Tendrils of shadow lashed out, striking the stone with violent force, leaving blackened scorch marks in their wake. The air was thick, suffocating, alive with a chaotic energy I couldn’t fully grasp.

Dust rained from the ceiling, the ancient structure groaning as though it, too, was straining under the weight of my fury.

“You framed my father,” I spat, my voice low and venomous as I began to circle him. The shadows followed, curling and twisting around him like living chains, pressing him further into submission. His once-calculated calm had shattered, his cries raw and jagged.

“You call him pathetic,” I continued, my tone sharp and cutting, “yet look at you now. Weak. Broken. Helpless.”

I paused, letting the silence hang heavy between us, broken only by his ragged gasps. The swirling darkness seemed to mock him, wrapping tighter around his trembling form, feeding on his pain. For a fleeting moment, I saw fear in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability he couldn’t hide.

And it was intoxicating.

I raised my wand once more, the darkness around me swirling with an unnatural ferocity, feeding on the storm inside me. It wasn’t just in the air—it was in me, clawing to be unleashed.

“Crucio!” The curse burst from my lips, raw and unrestrained. The spell struck him with a force that sent the shadows writhing across the chamber walls, the green light illuminating his face. His eyes, wide with something that almost looked like fear, reflected the glow for one fleeting moment before it seemed to drain away entirely.

Silence swallowed the room, heavy and oppressive. He lay crumpled on the floor, his breaths ragged and uneven. The swirling darkness didn’t dissipate but lingered, coiling around him, a predator savoring its prey.

My own breathing was shallow, my chest rising and falling as I took in the chamber. The serpents carved into the walls no longer writhed, their malevolent energy stilled, yet the jagged, scorched marks left by the swirling darkness remained—a violent testament to the storm that had passed.

For a moment, I felt the weight of it all—the power, the destruction, the raw energy coursing through me. It didn’t leave me hollow. No, it filled me, fueled me. Strength surged in my veins, vengeance igniting that fiery spark in me. This was no longer about him. This was about reclaiming what was mine.

“This is my legacy,” I said coldly, my voice cutting through the suffocating silence. The words felt like an oath, a promise etched into the very foundation of this place. “And I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take it from me.”

I raised my wand once more, the swirling chaos responding to my anger as though it were an extension of myself. The green light of the curse illuminated the chamber as I hissed, “Crucio!”

The spell struck him again, harder, fiercer, the impact sending waves of rippling energy through the air. His screams tore through the chamber, raw and ragged, echoing off the stone walls. The serpents seemed to watch, their carved faces twisted in silent approval as if they recognized me for what I was.

I stood over him, my wand trembling in my grasp, the swirling darkness around me seething with chaos. The chamber itself seemed alive, groaning under the weight of the storm I had unleashed. The serpents carved into the walls cast long shadows that stretched across the floor, darkened with the jagged scars of my rage. Tom lay crumpled at my feet, his breaths shallow and ragged, his once-imperious expression contorted in pain.

For a moment, the fire in me surged again, threatening to consume the fragile control I clung to. My wand tilted toward him, my voice steady and cold as I hissed, “You think this ends here? You think I’ll let you walk away from what you’ve done?” I stepped closer, my shadow stretching long over his broken form, the green glow of the chamber casting eerie shadows on the twisted smile that spread across my face. “I’ll remind you every time we cross paths, Tom. You don’t own power—you fear it. And that fear will destroy you.”

I raised my wand, the word perched on the edge of my lips—the Killing Curse, the ultimate end to his defiance. The shadows around me pulsed as if they were a living force, the storm feeding off my fury, amplifying it, whispering promises of vengeance. The air was thick with power, and for a moment, I saw it in my mind’s eye: the flash of green light, the silence that would follow, the lifeless body at my feet.

The darkness twisted around him, coiling; a serpent, drawing the light from his eyes. He didn’t plead, didn’t speak—he only stared, his shallow breaths the only sound in the suffocating chamber. My wand trembled, the word so close I could taste it. Avada Kedavra.

But then, from the depths of that swirling darkness, a whisper cut through the chaos: Not yet. It’s not time.

I froze, the words slicing through the tempest inside me. My chest heaved as I searched the chamber, trying to find the source of the voice, but there was nothing—only the flicker of shadows and the echo of his shallow breaths. The time-turner caught my eye, its delicate rings spinning faintly in the dim light. The glimmer broke through the haze, pulling me back from the brink.

The realization struck like a cold slap: I couldn’t let my wrath undo everything. I couldn’t alter the fragile balance of time for the sake of vengeance. If I ended him now, it would cost me far more than I could bear.

My hand tightened around my wand, the weight of restraint pressing down, a crushing force. Every fiber of my being wanted to cast it, to see the flash of green light, to make him pay for every word, every deed that had brought us here. My finger twitched as I wrestled with the temptation, the power tantalizingly close, a bitter taste on my tongue.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

With a ragged exhale, I forced the darkness to settle, the storm reluctantly pulling back, yet still coiled and waiting, feeding on the embers of my rage. My voice cut through the heavy air, low and sharp. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

The words carried weight, more than I intended, a promise as much as a threat. My wand stayed raised, trembling with the force of the unspoken curse. The shadows around me flickered and shifted, as if they too hungered for what came next, but I held them back, barely. This wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t forgiveness.

It was control.

His shallow breaths broke the silence, rasping in the charged air. His body lay broken before me, but it wasn’t enough—not yet. I stepped closer, every movement deliberate, the chamber’s eerie green light casting twisted shadows over his form. “You’ll suffer, Tom,” I said, my tone cold and resolute. “And every time you think you’ve escaped, I’ll remind you that you haven’t.”

For a fleeting moment, his eyes flickered with something—fear, maybe, or hatred—but it didn’t matter. The darkness swirled tighter around him, a reflection of the storm still raging within me. 

It wasn’t done with him yet. Neither was I.

[bloodandlegacy]

Through the piercing green light of the chamber, I held the Cruciatus Curse steady, the surge of magic coursing through me intoxicating. Tom Riddle writhed before me, his arrogance unraveling under my power. For the first time, I was not a shadow of my lineage—I was its wrath.

[bloodandlegacy]

Chapter XV: The Darkness Within

May 19, 1958

Dear Diary,

Tonight, I tasted power unlike anything I have ever known. It wasn’t the textbook spells or the borrowed wisdom of others—it was mine. Born of my pain, my fury, and something deep, ancient, and raw within me. The swirling darkness that surrounded me wasn’t an enemy; it was an ally. It responded to me as though it had always been waiting, dormant, for me to claim it.

There is no regret in my heart for what I’ve done. No guilt. No second-guessing. Only resolve. Tom thought he could break me, reduce me to a relic of his ambition, discarded and forgotten. But he doesn’t understand who I am. I am my father’s legacy, my mother’s daughter, and I refuse to be confined by the limits others would impose on me—least of all by him.

That magic—the dark, swirling force that surged around me—I need to know it completely. Its strength was intoxicating, a symphony of chaos and creation bending the world to my will. This is not a force to fear, as others might say, but to command. It is mine to master, to shape, and to wield. This power is my birthright, and I will uncover its secrets, no matter the cost.

Perhaps this is what they feared all along—the Gaunt bloodline reclaiming what was always ours. I have no patience for their morality, their warnings, their narrow definitions of right and wrong. What matters is power, control, and the ability to shape the world as I see fit.

I feel alive in a way I never have before. Strong. Capable. Unstoppable. This darkness is not my weakness—it is my strength. And I will not rest until I know how to summon it, shape it, and bend it to my will.

Tom knows he hasn’t won. I left him a crumpled mess—sniveling, crying, screaming in pain. But that was only the beginning. The darkness within me is a force I’ve only begun to touch, and I will master it. I will wield it with precision, amplify its power, and ensure he pays for every lie, every betrayal, and every stolen piece of my life. This is far from over. My magic will be my weapon, and I will use it to bring him to his knees again and again until he truly understands what suffering means.

Tomorrow, I will return to the Restricted Section. The answers lie there, hidden among the forbidden texts that others fear to read. I will sift through every tome, every scroll, until I find the knowledge I seek. This magic is mine, and I will learn its name, its history, its depths. Nothing and no one will stand in my way—not the rules, not the professors, and certainly not Tom Riddle. If this power has chosen me, then I will prove myself not just worthy of it, but destined to command it.

[bloodandlegacy]

XXI: When the Darkness Answers

February 12, 1891

The weeks drift by like fading embers; slow at first, then all at once

I pretend.

I pretend that I don’t know how this ends.I pretend that every second with them isn’t a stolen moment from a future that will take them away.I pretend that the ache in my chest isn’t growing sharper with each passing day.

And yet..

I let myself have the little things.

Late-night study sessions in the common room, Sebastian grumbling about essays he should have started days ago.Classes where Ominis whispers dry, sarcastic remarks under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.Quidditch games, where I cheer too loudly, too freely, because I want to remember what it feels like to be in these moments with them.

And Ominis.

His hand brushing mine beneath the library table.His warm breath against my ear as he murmurs something only for me.His voice, steady and soft, filling the silence in the Undercroft when I can’t find my own.

I try not to get too attached.

But it’s a losing battle.

Because the end is coming.And I don’t know how to tell him goodbye.

________________________________________________________

The courtyard is crisp with morning air, the sun barely cresting over the towers of the castle. Students move about in their usual morning haze, the smell of fresh bread wafting from the Great Hall.

I barely have a chance to register the moment before Sebastian comes barreling toward me, grinning like a madman.

His eyes gleaming, breathless as if he’s been running across the grounds just to find me.

"I've found something," he announces, his voice brimming with reckless enthusiasm.

I raise an eyebrow. "Sebastian, it’s too early for your usual dramatics."

He shakes his head, grinning. "No, no, no, this is real, Andromeda. I’m serious."

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"A catacomb. Slytherin’s catacomb.”

Something cold rushes over me.

I don’t speak, but that only spurs him on.

“And inside it—the relic.”

I know that look in his eyes.

The hunger. The reckless, insatiable drive that has always made me both admire and fear him.

“Sebastian.”

He doesn’t let me stop him.

“I’ve already been there,” he says quickly. “Well—to the entrance.” His voice lowers. “But there’s a problem.”

I already know what it is before he even says it.

“It needs a Slytherin heir to open it,” he tells me, and that’s when his gaze lands on me.

There’s expectation in his eyes.

I freeze.

I know, I KNOW, he hasn’t asked Ominis. He wouldn’t dare.

Ominis would have shut it down before Sebastian could even finish the sentence.

And I should say no, too.

I should.

But I don’t.

I’m making memories. 

___________________________________________________________________________

Sebastian said he’d send an owl when he was ready. How formal. It amused me at first, the thought of him sitting at his desk, quill poised as if he were writing some grand invitation rather than plotting yet another reckless pursuit. But the formality wasn’t for me. It was a precaution. A necessity.

Because Ominis couldn’t know.

An anonymous owl was the safest choice. A letter without a name, without a trace.

The day finally comes.

I recognize the handwriting the moment I break the seal—quick, slanted strokes, ink smudged in his eagerness.

Feldcroft. At the edge of the hamlet.

That’s all it says. No explanations. No pretense.

So close, yet hidden beneath our very noses.

I stare at the words longer than I should, my fingers tightening around the parchment.

I should burn it. Pretend I never saw it. I should let him go alone.

But I don’t.

________________________________________________________________

Feldcroft is as I remember it—quiet, the air crisp with the scent of woodsmoke. My steps carry me past the cottages, past the still-sleeping hamlet, and toward the place where I know he’ll be waiting.

The catacomb entrance looms ahead, carved into the earth like a wound.

Sebastian is already there, turning at the sound of my approach, his eyes alight with something feverish.

He doesn’t feel it.

Not the weight pressing down on the air. Not the way the ground seems to hum beneath my feet.

Something is wrong.

I think, for a moment, that he must sense it too. That he must feel the same unshakable unease. Something is really wrong.

But there’s no hesitation in him. No second-guessing.

He’s not nervous. He’s not afraid.

He's eager. Determined. Completely certain that this is right—that this relic, this catacomb, is the answer he's been chasing.

He wants this. Needs this.

The Obscurus stirs like a beast waking, unfurling beneath my ribs with something dangerously close to anticipation. I try to push it down.

“You’re here.” he says. His voice is steady—low, serious.

Something in my chest eases. For once, he’s taking this seriously.

I nod. “Of course.”

He holds my gaze for a moment, then glances toward the entrance. “This place… it’s been here all along. Just waiting.”

I try to ignore the way the air feels heavy. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “Are you?”

I hesitate. I don’t know if I am. But his certainty is grounding; it makes the choice feel easier.

He studies me a second longer. “You’re the Heir of Slytherin,” he says, quieter this time. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just stating a fact. “If anyone’s meant to do this, it’s you.”

That should unsettle me. Maybe it does.

But right now, I don’t push it away.

He tilts his head toward the entrance. “Ready?”

I nod, then hesitate. “How do we open it?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.” His expression is unbothered. “That’s why I brought the Heir of Slytherin.”

I shoot him a look, but there’s no teasing in his tone this time.

He gestures toward the door. “How did you open the Scriptorium?”

“Something just… took over.” The memory sends a chill through me

Sebastian hums in thought. “Then maybe you just need to get closer.”

I slowly step forward, approaching the solid wall of stone. At first, there’s nothing. Just the weight of it looming before me, still and unyielding.

Then, I see it.

Letters.

The symbols are jagged, curling, unfamiliar. They make no sense, but something about them feels known.

I narrow my eyes, tracing their shapes with my fingers. The edges of the carvings feel colder than the rest of the stone, like ice.

I don’t know what they say.

But my lips part anyway, and before I can stop myself, I start repeating the sounds in my head.

Again and again.

Until, finally, I whisper them aloud.

The moment the words leave my lips, something in the air snaps.

A sharp, biting chill rushes through the air, and the letters begin to glow.

Blue.

A cold, glacial light, spreading outward like veins of ice.

And then, all at once…

The stone melts.

It liquefies, vanishing into nothing, as if it had never been there at all.

Sebastian blinks at the now-empty space before us. "Well, that’s one way to open a door."

I don’t respond. My skin is still tingling, my breath still shallow.

The magic had responded to me. It had been waiting for me.

Sebastian steps forward without hesitation, his wand raised.

I follow, and together, we step into the darkness.

_____________________________________

The further we go, the more the silence presses in, thick and unyielding.

Sebastian finds a torch mounted to the stone wall. With a single flick of his wand, the flame roars to life, catching something unseen in the cavern’s depths.

A ribbon of fire races across the ceiling, tracing an ancient path like a falling star. It erupts through the chamber, igniting torches along the way. Within seconds, the entire tomb is bathed in a golden glow.

And for a moment, I forget to breathe.

The walls are adorned with bones, arranged in perfect, almost reverent patterns. Archways framed by skulls, vertebrae woven into intricate designs. Every surface is a testament to death’s beauty, its artistry preserved in this untouched shrine.

His voice barely above a whisper. “Incredible.”

It is.

But something about it unnerves me.

Sebastian presses forward, stepping deeper into the chamber. “Start looking through the parchments,” he says. “It has to be here somewhere.”

He doesn’t need to say what it is. I already know.

I move toward a crumbling stone altar, dust coating my fingertips as I pick up a fragile, yellowed page. The ink is faded, the text barely legible, but—

I stop.

Something catches my eye.

Not paper.

The relic, resting atop a pile of parchment, half-buried beneath time and dust.

There it is.

Sebastian sees the shift in my expression. He steps closer, eyes flicking to what I’ve found.

He picks it up.

He’s the first one to hold it.

Something inside me twists.

For a moment, I don’t understand why.

And then, I do.

Typical male heir.

A flash of pale skin, sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that aren’t his.

I blink, but the image lingers—Sebastian standing where he should be, but it’s not him.

It’s Tom.

Tom, holding what should be mine.

The false heir to my legacy, born from deception and trickery. A boy whose mother used love potions to force the bloodline forward.

Whereas I—

I am the product of love, the true Slytherin heir.

Not a deceptive bastard. 

A sharp tremor runs through me. I grip my wand tighter, my fingernails biting into my palm. My breath stutters, my magic rising, not in defense, but in warning.

He shouldn’t have it.

It’s not his.

It’s mine.

The thought is visceral, violent, intrusive—it slams into me with the force of a hex. My fingers twitch toward my wand before I can stop myself.

And then—

I flinch.

The moment shatters.

Sebastian is still standing there, turning the relic over in his hands, his expression filled with wonder, not malice.

Sebastian. Not Tom.

I force my grip to loosen. The pulse of magic inside me doesn’t settle, but I push it down, shove it into the deepest parts of myself.

This is for him.

I wanted him to have this.

Didn’t I?

Sebastian’s eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. He’s fixated, his breath steady, measured—like he’s holding something sacred.

I can’t stop staring at it.

Something about it pulls.

Not just at me, but at something inside me.

The Obscurus stirs, shifting under my skin, tendrils of dark energy coiling at the edges of my senses. I clench my fists, willing it down, willing it quiet.

Not here. Not now.

“We should go.”

Sebastian doesn’t look up. “Just a little longer—”

“No,” I say sharply. I don’t know where the urgency comes from, only that it’s there, thick and suffocating. We need to leave.

I don’t want to be here.

“We’ll study it back at the castle,” I say quickly, already moving toward the entrance. “Come on, Sebastian.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression.

Sebastian won’t move.

His grip on the relic tightens, his expression unreadable, but I see it in his posture.

He’s not leaving.

The relic has him now.

Something in me snaps.

A wave of panic, fierce and overwhelming, surges through my veins. I can’t let this happen.

I won’t.

The words leave my lips before I fully register them, smooth and unyielding.

“Imperio.”

Sebastian jerks slightly, then stills.

Then—

The world rips apart.

A violent pulse surges through my body, tearing through me like a jagged wound.

The Obscurus erupts.

A shrieking, churning mass of darkness explodes from my chest, twisting through the air like a storm unchained.

The torches die instantly. The chamber plunges into a suffocating, unnatural dark, the only light coming from the flickering tendrils of black mist curling and stretching like grasping hands.

The walls groan, bones shuddering loose from their places.

The relic flies from Sebastian’s grasp, clattering to the ground. He stumbles, his body no longer under my control, but I barely register it.

The Obscurus is wild, uncontrollable.

It’s alive.

I try to pull it back. I can’t.

It surges forward, smashing against the walls, a vortex of shadow and rage, turning everything inside-out.

A shriek, high and unnatural, splits the air.

Not mine.

Not Sebastian’s.

The Obscurus itself.

And then—

“Andromeda!”

A voice, sharp and raw, cuts through the chaos.

The storm flickers.

Ominis.

He stands in the corridor, his head tilted slightly, breath uneven. His wand is gripped tightly in his fingers, his knuckles stark white against the handle.

I see it then—the way his body tenses, the way he braces himself, like he’s expecting pain.

Like before.

The Obscurus nearly killed him last time.

A fresh, horrible wave of guilt crashes through me.

I can’t let it happen again.

Something shifts inside me.

Ominis’s voice is stronger this time, firm but not unkind. “Andromeda. Come back.”

I breathe, and—just like that, I feel it.

The pull of something warm. Something human.

Something I refuse to lose.

I grit my teeth, forcing my shaking hands to close into fists.

The Obscurus fights. It resists, twisting violently in protest, but I push.

Harder.

This isn’t who I am.

With a final, desperate pull, the darkness collapses inward. The screaming wind dies. The dust settles. The weight of it, all of it, folds back into my chest, where it belongs.

The chamber is silent.The air still charged with the aftermath of something neither of us wants to acknowledge.

_____________________________________________________

I can still feel it.

The weight of the Obscurus.

The echo of what I almost became.

The chamber is too quiet. The air is thick with the aftermath of what just happened, pressing against my skin, suffocating.

Ominis hasn’t moved.

Sebastian is the first to break the silence. He bends down, reaching for the relic—

“Leave it.”

Ominis’s voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and absolute.

Sebastian’s fingers freeze just above the relic. Slowly, he straightens, his expression unreadable.

"Ominis—"

“How dare you?”

His voice is icy with betrayal.

Ominis’s jaw tightens as he lifts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “How dare you both?”

Sebastian stiffens, his shoulders squaring. “Don’t blame her,” he says quickly, stepping between us. “I practically begged her to come. I needed her… uh… an heir of Slytherin. And I knew I couldn’t ask you.”

“I do blame you both.” His voice is sharp, clipped, but it isn’t just anger. There’s something beneath it, something worse.

“You for asking her behind my back,” Ominis continues, his words slow, deliberate, measured only because his anger is barely held together. “And her for going along with it. Knowing exactly what you were risking.”

Something in me drops.

I glance at him, searching for something—anything—that tells me I can fix this. But his posture is rigid, his hands still trembling, and I know.

I’ve disappointed him.

And that, somehow, is worse than the anger.

Sebastian exhales sharply. “We got what we came for. It’s done. There’s no point in—”

“We’re not taking it.”

I finally look at Ominis. His knuckles are white where they grip his wand. His shoulders haven’t relaxed since the moment he stepped into this room.

Sebastian stares at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

Sebastian lets out a bitter breath, frustration barely contained. “You don’t understand what this means—”

“I do,” Ominis snaps. “And I don’t care.”

His hands are shaking.

I’ve never seen him like this before.

Sebastian takes a step forward, voice dropping into something low and dangerous. “What if I take it anyway?”

Ominis doesn’t hesitate.

“Then I’ll stop you.”

The words drop like a guillotine.

Sebastian lets out a humorless breath, his jaw tightening. “You wouldn’t.”

Ominis doesn’t respond.

He would.

We all know it.

The tension stretches between them, tight as a drawn wire, ready to snap.

And then—Ominis’s head drops. His shoulders sag slightly, but not in surrender.

His voice is quieter now. Weary.

“Andromeda—”

My name, spoken so softly, nearly unravels me.

“I felt it.”

The words land like a curse.

My stomach twists.

His grip on his wand tightens.

“The moment I stepped inside.” His voice is trembling with something sharp, something furious. “The moment you lost it.”

His breathing turns uneven, his control slipping for the first time. He knows I felt it, too.

His expression crumbles into something broken. Something betrayed.

His breath catches. And then, the anger returns.

“You knew.” The weight of it presses down. “You felt it.”

He’s right. I did.

And then, his voice drops into something almost broken.

“I thought you were going to kill me again.”

The words stab through me.

Sebastian blinks at me.

“What?” His voice is blank. Like he’s trying to process it.

His gaze flickers between us, and I can see the moment he realizes.

Sebastian stares at me.

The fear is brief. Fleeting.

But it’s there.

For a second, he sees me not as his closest friend, not as his fellow conspirator.

He sees me as something else.

Something dangerous.

And then, it's gone.

“You were controlling it?”

A fresh wave of nausea coils in my stomach.

Ominis doesn’t give me a chance to respond.

“Shut up.”

Sebastian’s mouth snaps shut.

Ominis shakes his head slightly, his voice steadier now. “If this happens again, they won’t give you a second chance. You know that.”

Sebastian doesn’t move.

His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something—but no words come.

I can feel it in the way his shoulders stiffen. The way his jaw locks tight.

It isn’t surrender.

It’s acceptance.

Slowly, his gaze drops to the relic lying abandoned on the ground.

He doesn’t reach for it.

And that’s when I realize how quiet the room has become.

It’s unbearable.

I feel the ghost of my own magic lingering on my skin, the phantom ache of where the Obscurus tore free.

My breathing is too shallow. My heart still hammering in my chest.

But none of it feels real.

Ominis hasn’t moved, either.

His fingers are white-knuckled around his wand.

Too tight. Like he needs to hold onto something solid, something real, to keep from breaking.

And yet, his voice remains steady.

“We’re leaving.”

Sebastian doesn’t argue.

Neither do I.

I’m not sure I could if I tried.

________________________________________________

The entrance looms ahead—the threshold between what happened down here and the world outside.

Sebastian reaches it first, stepping out into the open air. The weight of the catacomb seems to cling to us, even as we emerge. The cold night presses in, but it does nothing to dispel the heaviness in my chest.

Ominis doesn’t follow immediately.

Instead, he lingers at the entrance, fingers still too tight around his wand. His breaths are slower now, measured, but I can still feel the tension radiating from him; a quiet storm beneath his skin.

I brace myself for more words filled with anger, disappointment, the sharp edge of betrayal.

But when he speaks, his voice is low. Softer than I expect.

"I don’t forgive you.”

The words land like an anchor, steady and unwavering. They’re not cruel, just honest.

He shifts slightly, his grip loosening, but his posture remains rigid. “Not yet.”

Then, quieter still—"But I don’t hate you, Andromeda.” His voice is tired, the weight of the night pressing down on both of us. “I could never hate you.”

My throat tightens. I don’t know what to say.

A pause stretches between us, thick and suffocating. 

“You thought you might find answers in this place.” His tone holds no accusation, only quiet understanding. “Did you?”

The cold night presses against my skin. I already know my answer.

“There are no answers.”

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

And then, his hand finds mine.

Soft, searching.

A breath shudders from my lips as his fingers curl around my wrist, then slide up, settling against my cheek. Warm. Steady. Reassuring.

And without hesitation, he pulls me into his arms.

I don’t resist.

I press my face into his shoulder, his warmth chasing away the cold that has buried itself beneath my skin. His breath is soft against my hair, his hold firm but unhurried, as if neither of us is ready to let go.

Ominis quiets the storm within me.

And that’s when I know.

Leaving him behind will be close to impossible.