#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.

[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]

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]

XX: Gaunt

It’s time.

I’ve spent half the summer preparing for this moment, honing the spells that will ensure I succeed. Practicing Unforgivables on the others at the orphanage wasn’t difficult—they’re so weak-minded, so docile, so beneath me. Muggles have no place in my world. They never did.

The time for waiting, for planning, is over. I’ve gathered what I need, pieced together her location, and now I know exactly where that squib is. The woman who tried to strip away my magic, who broke me over and over. She’ll answer for her sins today.

The jail in Gloucestershire looms ahead as I Apparate just beyond its iron gates. It’s not Azkaban, but something about the place feels eerily familiar. The heavy air, the stone walls steeped in despair—it’s enough to send flashes of my father’s face through my mind. His haunted eyes. The madness that consumed him.

For a moment, I hesitate, the pit in my stomach twisting into something almost unbearable. But I push it down, bury it with the rest of my fear. This isn’t the time for second-guessing. I came here for justice, and I won’t falter.

Inside, the air is thick with hopelessness, the kind that clings to you, seeping into your skin. The damp chill, the oppressive silence—it’s suffocating.

The thought twists like a knife in my chest, sharp and unexpected. My father—rotting away in that forsaken place, condemned as a monster, a madman unfit to live among decent wizards. They didn’t care that he was innocent. He was easy to put away—marked by the Gaunt name, branded a Parselmouth, burdened by a bloodline they had already written off as madness incarnate. What did they see when they looked at him? Not a man, but a convenient scapegoat, someone who could bear the sins of others without question.

They didn’t see the chains he was born into, the way his own father twisted and broke him before the world ever had a chance. He wasn’t mad; he was broken. Just like me.

I clutch my wand tighter, the thought burning in my chest. My father’s suffering wasn’t his fault, and neither was mine. But unlike him, I refuse to let the world cage me, to let the weight of my bloodline or my pain dictate my future.

I force myself forward, the echo of my footsteps swallowed by the oppressive silence. The cell is just ahead, and with every step, my resolve hardens. This isn’t about the past. This is about reclaiming what was taken from me.

And then I see her.

She’s older, weaker than I remember, but her eyes still hold that same cruelty. The same disdain she always had when she looked at me. She’s sitting in the corner of her cell, her magicless existence etched into every weary line on her face.

The guards don’t see me. A few whispered incantations, and I’m invisible to their Muggle eyes.

When I step into her line of sight, her gaze sharpens, a sneer forming on her lips.

“So, the little freak found her way back,” she spits, her voice dripping with contempt. “What’s the matter? Still looking for someone to blame for your pathetic existence?”

Her words hit like a slap, but they don’t sting the way they once did. I’ve heard them all before. She only sees the girl she tormented standing before her now. She doesn’t see the power I’ve become.

I step closer, my voice calm, steady. “Do you know what your greatest mistake was?” I ask.

Her sneer deepens. “Letting you live.”

A cold smile spreads across my face. “No. It was underestimating me.”

Her laughter is sharp, bitter. “You think you’ve won, but you’ll always be a curse. Do you even know what you are? What you’ve done?”

She leans forward, her voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “Cassiopeia and I were friends once. Best friends. I promised her I’d take care of you—of the parasite that killed her. She adored you, you know. Believed you’d be something special. But I saw the truth.”

Her gaze sharpens, pure hatred blazing in her eyes. “You killed her, you little wretch. She might have survived if it weren’t for you. You drained the life out of her before you even opened your eyes. And I took you in—out of pity. But you weren’t worth it. You never were.”

The words hit harder than I expect, dredging up a storm of grief, anger, and something darker that churns deep inside me. My mother. The only faint glimmer of warmth in a life so filled with cold. And this woman—this vile, twisted woman—has the audacity to blame me? To speak her name and taint it with lies?

I step closer, my voice low and steady, each word laced with cold fury. “You don’t deserve to say her name. You don’t deserve to remember her.”

“Crucio.”

Her sneer collapses into a grimace of pain, the first crack in her façade.The flicker of unease in her eyes is a fleeting triumph, but it isn’t enough—not yet. My grip tightens on my wand, the weight of it grounding me, its tip steady and unyielding as I level it at her chest.

The air between us thickens, crackling with an energy I can’t quite contain. From behind me, I feel it stir—dark, writhing, alive. The shadows stretch and twist, curling like smoke, filling the room with a suffocating presence.

The Obscurus.

It unfurls slowly at first, tendrils of darkness creeping along the walls, pooling at my feet, then spreading with a force that makes the air itself seem to shudder. It moves as though it has a mind of its own, a will that mirrors my fury, my pain. The chains of smoke coil and twist around her, pinning her to the wall like a prisoner awaiting judgment.

Her sneer is gone now, replaced by something I’ve never seen in her before: fear. Real, raw fear.

“What is this?” she rasps, her voice cracking as she struggles against the smoky restraints. The chains tighten, and the room hums with the dark energy spilling from me, from it.

The darkness isn't just mine; it is me. It moves with purpose, unspoken yet understood, a mirror of everything I've endured and everything I’ve become.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. The Obscurus seems to understand, responding to my emotions, my anger, my need to make her suffer as she made me suffer. It presses closer, the tendrils tightening like a vice, and for the first time, I feel it—its strength, its power, its hunger.

It wants her, I realize. It wants to consume her, to take from her what she took from me.

For a moment, I falter. The rage surging through me fights with the faintest flicker of doubt. But then I remember her words, her cruelty, her lies. I remember the years of torment, the scars she left—on my skin, on my soul.

She deserves this.

The chains of smoke tighten around her, muffling her screams, silencing her hate. My wand stays raised, steady and sure, but it’s the darkness itself that holds her now.

I step back, lowering my wand just slightly, letting the Obscurus surge forward. This is its moment, its revenge. After all, she created this in me—the monster she feared, the darkness she fed with every strike, every cruel word. Now, she’ll face it.

Her defiance crumbles, her sneer replaced by terror, and for the first time, I see her as she truly is: powerless.

She tried to destroy me, to make me small, but all she did was birth this. The Obscurus isn’t a curse—it’s mine. My pain, my anger, my will, all brought to life. A reflection of everything she tried to take from me, now turned against her.

I don’t resist it. I don’t need to. This is justice. The Obscurus moves as though it knows what I want, what I need. It presses closer, suffocating her hate, consuming the very thing that made her who she was.

For the first time, I don’t feel fear. I let it be what it was always meant to be: the reckoning she deserves.

I raise my wand again, the weight of it a perfect match for the fury coursing through me. 

“Crucio.”

Her screams tear through the cell, raw and unfiltered, but they barely reach me. The sound doesn’t satisfy me—it’s hollow, empty, like an echo of what she truly deserves. The chains of smoke tighten around her, the Obscurus responding to my unspoken will, amplifying the pain.

Her body trembles, her breath coming in ragged gasps as I lower my wand, stepping closer, my voice cutting through the haze with cold precision. “You blamed me for her death, but she chose wrong when she trusted you. You were the mistake. And now, you’ll be nothing. Forgotten. Just like the waste of a life you’ve led.”

Her lips part as if to respond, but no words come. There’s nothing she can say now that would change this moment, nothing that could undo the years of torment she inflicted on me. The spell is already on my lips, rising from the depths of my soul, unshakable in its resolve.

“Avada Kedavra.”

The green light floods the cell, consuming her entirely, and then—silence. The kind of silence that feels like it could swallow the world whole.

I lower my wand slowly, my hand steady despite the weight of what I’ve just done. The chains of smoke retreat, curling back around me like a protective shroud. The Obscurus hums with satisfaction, its presence fading but not gone, as if it understands that its purpose here is fulfilled.

She’s gone. The woman who tried to break me, who created this darkness within me, is nothing now. Her existence—her hate, her cruelty—snuffed out as though it had never been.

The Obscurus lingers in the air, a shadow of what it was moments ago, but I feel it within me still—calm, steady, a reminder of the power I wield. It’s mine. And now, it’s hers no longer.

Power surges through me, electrifying and consuming. For the first time, I feel the full weight of the spell—not just its finality, but its potency. It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. As if all the rage, the pain, the injustice I’ve endured has finally found its voice.

I don’t feel triumph. I don’t feel sorrow. What I feel is a cold, quiet sense of balance. The scales have tipped. The wound she inflicted on me—on my soul—has been stitched shut, not healed, but bound tightly enough that it no longer festers.

Her death doesn’t erase the scars she left behind, but it takes away her power. The things she did to me, the words she hissed in the darkness—they no longer hold weight. She can’t hurt me anymore.

As I turn to leave, the air in the cell feels lighter, as if the oppression she carried with her has evaporated. The stone walls no longer feel so suffocating. With each step I take, I feel stronger. Not freer, but unshackled.

The image of my father flickers in my mind—his gaunt face, his hollow eyes. He spent years rotting away in Azkaban, haunted by the ghosts of his past. I’m not him, I remind myself. His madness was born from a life he couldn’t escape. I’m not trapped like he was.

I’m not bound by his mistakes or anyone else’s.

I step out of the prison, the chill of the outside air biting at my skin. The sky above is gray, heavy with clouds, but there’s a clarity to it I hadn’t noticed before. The world feels sharper, more defined.

This isn’t vengeance. It never was.

This was about making her answer for what she did—for what she took from me, for what she tried to destroy. She thought she could make me powerless, but all she did was fuel the strength I carry now.

Justice is cold, they say. But so is power. And now, I know I am both.

I straighten my back, my head held high as I take a deep, steadying breath.

The Gaunt name was my father’s curse, my mother’s shame, and my burden for so long. But today, it’s my triumph.

I reclaim it not out of duty or fear, but because I’ve made it mine. And with it, I will carve a legacy that is entirely my own.

[bloodandlegacy]

XVIII: Unworthy

December 25, 1890

I should be in Feldcroft. But I’m not. And for once, I’m glad.

Christmas means less prying, fewer eyes, fewer interruptions. The castle is quiet, empty in a way I don’t mind. It gives me time. Time to think, time to dig deeper, time to let my thoughts spiral until they land on something real.

The Keepers were clear; Ancient Magic is not tied to blood curses. That was supposed to be a relief. It isn’t. If my affliction isn’t born from Ancient Magic, then what is it? Why does my magic surge, uncontrolled, when rage overtakes me? Why does it feel like something separate from me—something lurking beneath the surface, waiting for a moment of weakness?

The answers must be here. Somewhere.

I have spent every free moment poring over Obscurus Origins: A Study of Darkness in the Womb. The words blur together, burned into my mind even when I close my eyes. Every theory, every whisper of what I might be, it all circles back to one thing.

Mortua Manus. A blood curse tied to Salazar Slytherin’s research. A curse meant to sever unworthy witches and wizards from their magic. A punishment. A way to erase those who dared to defy blood purity.

If wielded improperly, the curse could warp the very thing it was meant to preserve, making it a horrifying contradiction. It wouldn’t strip the fetus of magic—it would create the existence of a dark force, a parasitic wound in the soul that would feed off that magic for the rest of its life. A curse not of silence, but of hunger.

My stomach twists every time I turn those words over in my mind. Unworthy. That’s what my grandfather believed. That my mother had weakened the bloodline by carrying me. That she had shamed them. That I should have never existed.

This was never about punishment. It was about power. Control. He didn’t just want to strip her of magic, he wanted to make sure that I never threatened the legacy he worshipped.

But I am here. Against his will. Against his expectations. Against everything he tried to erase.

It is not enough to read about it. I need to see it.

I need to know what happened after she left the forest that night. Where she went. What she endured.

But more than that. I need to know when it happened.

Was I born with this? Or was it forced into me?

Is my magic a curse I carry in my blood, or a punishment they created?

I will use the Time-Turner. I will go back and find her.

[bloodandlegacy]

XVI: Shadows of Betrayal

Sebastian stormed toward our table, his footsteps echoing with the weight of frustration long suppressed. "You two!" His voice cut through the din of the pub, sharp and accusatory, drawing the attention of a few curious onlookers. “You two have been keeping secrets.” His gaze burned, flicking between us with barely contained fury.

Ominis remained seated, his posture unwavering, stoic really. "Yes, for your own good. Andromeda and I have developed a relationship, and I won’t entertain your objections. That’s not why we brought you here." his voice calm, a stark contrast to Sebastian's simmering rage

Sebastian's face twisted in disbelief, his hands clenching at his sides. "My own good? You’re unbelievable, Ominis! Sneaking around behind my back, parading through the castle like you're the stars of some twisted romance. Holding hands in the courtyard, kissing in class as if the rest of us don’t exist. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Or was that the point? What else are you not telling me?"

His glare snapped to me, sharp as a curse. "And you?"

Sebastian took a step closer, his voice dripping with venom. "Was that the plan all along? Use me to get close to Ominis and then act like I’m nothing? The two heirs of Slytherin on their rightful thrones, while I’m left standing in the dark, like a fool who never mattered."

Ominis’s voice was steady, cutting through Sebastian’s fury like a blade through fog. "Enough, Sebastian." His tone wasn’t sharp, but firm, calm in a way that made the anger in the room feel louder. "Don’t say something you’ll regret."

Sebastian’s chest heaved, his fists trembling at his sides, but Ominis didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, his face inches from Sebastian’s, his composure unshaken. "Sit down. Listen. We didn’t bring you here to fight."

The tension lingered, thick and suffocating, as if the very walls were holding their breath. Sebastian’s eyes burned with defiance, he looked toward the door, his hands twitching at his sides, like he was deciding whether to walk out altogether. I held my breath, half-expecting him to leave.But after a second, he dropped into the nearest chair, his jaw clenched tight.

Without another word, Ominis gestured to me. Under the table, his fingers brushed against my wrist, a fleeting touch, barely there but deliberate. A silent reassurance. After a brief pause—realizing he was gesturing for the spellbook—I handed it to him. The book landed on the wooden table with a thud, the sound anchoring the tension in the room.

Sebastian's eyes snapped to it, the anger momentarily eclipsed by raw curiosity. "Is that…?" His hand moved instinctively toward it, fingers brushing the ancient cover as if afraid it might vanish. His hands trembled, barely perceptible, as they traced the edges of the book. A deep, unsteady breath escaped him, as though grounding himself with the reality of it in his grasp.

"Salazar Slytherin's spellbook," Ominis confirmed, his voice low and steady.

Sebastian’s gaze darted to me, his eyes filled with betrayal. I looked away, unable to meet the intensity of his stare.

"Of course," he muttered bitterly. "The Scriptorium. The very place you swore you’d never enter. But you took her."

"Because she needed to understand something you never could," Ominis replied.

Sebastian leaned forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "And what exactly makes her worthy of that knowledge? We’re practically brothers, Ominis. Or does that mean nothing now?"

Ominis didn’t waver. "We’re not brothers, Sebastian. Andromeda is a Gaunt, the blood of Salazar Slytherin runs through her veins. She has every right to that legacy."

Sebastian recoiled as if struck, his face flushing with a mix of anger and hurt. "So that’s it then. I’m just an outsider to you."

Ominis's demeanor softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. "You’re not an outsider. But this was never about you. This is about what’s right. And what’s necessary."

Sebastian opened his mouth to retort, but Ominis silenced him with a raised hand. "We brought you here because this book contains what you’ve been searching for. It holds the answers that might help Anne. That’s what matters now."

Sebastian’s anger eased, replaced by a flicker of desperate hope. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced the edges of the spellbook. "You did this... for me?"

Ominis nodded. "For Anne. For you. Take it. Use it wisely."

Sebastian looked between us, the storm in his eyes slowly fading into something quieter, though the undercurrent of resentment remained. Gratitude warred with betrayal on his face, but he said nothing more, his focus consumed by the ancient book that now rested in his hands.

______________________________________________________________

The three of us remained at the table long after the conversation shifted from confrontation to reluctant understanding. Words came slower now, the sharp edges dulled by time and butterbeer. The tension never fully faded, lingering beneath the surface, but for tonight, it was quiet.

Ominis was the first to rise. He smoothed the front of his robes, but his fingers lingered, hesitating just enough for me to notice.

Before I could ask, he leaned down, brushing his lips against mine—quick, deliberate, but warm. A silent reassurance.

Sebastian groaned. "So this is a thing now.”

Ominis straightened, smirking. "Would you like one too, Sebastian?"

Sebastian scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "No, thank you. I’d like to keep my supper down."

Ominis laughed, shaking his head as he turned toward the door. 

The moment it clicked shut behind him, Sebastian's attention snapped to me, his fingers still tracing the edges of the spellbook.

“What was it like?”

I knew what he meant.

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. “Oh, it was so romantic,” I drawled, leaning back in my chair. “Candlelight, darkened corridors, whispered secrets in the shadows. Truly, a night to remember.”

Sebastian scoffed, exasperation flashing across his face. “Andromeda.”

I laughed, the sound breaking through the tension, and leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. “Fine. You want to know? It was suffocating. The air felt like it was pressing down on me, like the place itself was testing whether I was worthy of stepping inside.” My fingers curled slightly, remembering the way the stone walls had whispered with the weight of old magic. “The entrance was locked with a blood sacrifice. A test. A warning. And then there was the Cruciatus Curse.”

Sebastian stilled, his fingers tightening around his mug.

I met his gaze, unflinching. “It wasn’t just an old chamber, Sebastian. It was a tomb. A place built on suffering. But it held answers. It held power.” My voice lowered, steady, deliberate. “Maybe one day, you’ll see it for yourself.”

His eyes darkened, not with anger, but something deeper, longing, curiosity, a hunger for what lay beyond his reach.

“But for now,” I continued, pushing the spellbook toward him, “be happy with this.”

Sebastian hesitated, his fingers ghosting over the cover before exhaling sharply and pulling it closer. He didn’t thank me. He didn’t need to. The flicker of something softer in his eyes, just for a moment, was enough.

But even as he held the book, his grip remained tight. Too tight. His fingers curled around the edges like it was the only thing anchoring him.

"I suppose I can be content with this," he murmured, though the weight in his voice said otherwise. "For now."

His jaw was still set, his breaths measured, but I could see it. This wasn’t over.

Not for him.

He traced the book’s spine, exhaling quietly. "One day, I’ll see it for myself."

I didn’t argue.

For now, the night would end in uneasy peace. But the shadows of the Scriptorium lingered between us, whispering of things yet to come.

[bloodandlegacy]

XV: ‘Let Them Talk’

November 30, 1890

The Undercroft has been mine for the first time in what feels like forever. With Sebastian and Ominis gone to Feldcroft, the space feels strangely hollow without them. Quiet. Still. But for once, that’s exactly what I needed.

I’ve finally had the chance to study the spellbook properly.

When they asked if I wanted to join them for the weekend, I almost laughed at how transparent it all was. Sebastian’s enthusiasm was predictable, his grin wide as he made it sound like some grand adventure. Ominis, however, was different. The deliberate tilt of his head, the careful way he asked the same question, it wasn’t an invitation. It was permission.

He wanted me to stay.

It was subtle, perfectly timed, and utterly Ominis. He didn’t press when I declined, and Sebastian eventually gave up after one last dramatic sigh. But it wasn’t until Ominis brushed past me, his hand just barely grazing mine, that I realized how much thought he’d put into all of this. The folded parchment he slipped into my palm was unread until long after they’d left.

Don’t worry. Trust me.

And so I have.

This weekend hasn’t been peaceful, but it’s been productive. The spellbook is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered, its pages grotesque, its contents haunting.

Blood curses… they aren’t spells; they’re something else entirely. Twisted rituals that demand more than magic; they demand pieces of you. A life for a life. Flesh for power. Every word feels alive, like it’s cutting into me, dragging me closer to a truth I don’t want to see. These aren’t just spells to harm. They’re curses designed to corrupt, to hollow out whatever humanity you have left and fill the cracks with something darker.

And I can’t stop thinking about her.

Did Marvolo curse my mother when he found out she was pregnant? Of course he did, why wouldn’t he? It’s exactly the kind of cruelty he’d think was righteous. I picture her running through the forest, breath sharp and shallow, clutching her wand like it could be enough to keep him away. Did she know, even then, how little time she had?

And yet, she still ran. She still fought.

Where did she go after that? Did she think she could outpace the darkness she must have known was already inside her? Did she think she could save me?

The questions claw at me, sharp and unrelenting, digging into my skin until it feels like I might bleed from the weight of not knowing. They whisper that the answers are there, somewhere, waiting to be found, but always just out of reach.

Tomorrow, I’ll have to act like I’m not falling apart, like I haven’t spent these past two days unraveling every thread of my mother’s life until all that’s left is the question of how she could love me so much and leave me with this.

Marvolo Gaunt thought curses were power. He didn’t realize they were chains.

But I feel them. I always have.

By the time I stepped out of the dormitory, the castle was alive with its usual Monday chaos. The sharp echo of students’ chatter filled the halls, mixing with the clatter of footsteps and the occasional swoosh of an owl darting overhead. My own footsteps felt heavy against the stone, the weight of the past two days settling in my chest.

When I finally reached the Great Hall, it was already buzzing. The long tables were crowded with students, plates and goblets cluttered with breakfast remnants. My eyes immediately sought them out, Sebastian and Ominis, seated at the far end of the Slytherin table.

They were mid-argument when I arrived. Of course they were.

“You weren’t even here yet,” Sebastian said loudly, gesturing animatedly with a piece of toast. “You can’t just reserve a seat in advance!”

Ominis, ever composed despite the edge in his tone, replied, “I always sit there, Sebastian. You know this. It’s practically my spot.”

The sight of them bickering brought a small smile to my face. 

I made my way over, setting my books down beside Ominis with an exaggerated thud. “Morning, gentlemen,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Arguing over breakfast seats now?”

Ominis turned toward me, his expression calm but tinged with exasperation. “Sebastian does things on purpose to irritate me. I’m sure you’ve noticed. He does the same to you, like calling spiders insects and expecting you not to correct him.”

Sebastian spun to face me, his eyes wide with mock offense. “You told him about that?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I didn’t have to. You’re predictable, Sebastian.”

Sebastian groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own friends.”

“You make it so easy,” Ominis said dryly, his tone cutting just enough to make me stifle another laugh.

Sebastian paused, tilting his head as though deep in thought before his grin returned, sharper than before. “You know, with all this time you two have been sneaking off together, I can’t help but feel a little left out.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Ominis got there first. “Sebastian,” he said evenly, “we’ve talked about this. You’ll know everything in time. But you’ll have to be patient.”

Sebastian leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms with an exaggerated smirk. “Sure. Patience. Easy for you to say. You’ve got all the answers, don’t you?”

Ominis’s lips twitched into a faint smirk of his own. “Patience, Sebastian. Or perhaps you’d like to discuss your fear of spiders again?”

Sebastian’s smirk vanished as he grabbed his toast. “That was once. And I was eleven.”

“It was just a few weeks ago, actually,” Ominis interjected smoothly, his tone as sharp as ever.

Sebastian froze mid-bite, his face flushed. “You’re supposed to let that go.”

“I’ll consider it when you stop calling spiders insects,” Ominis replied, his calm precision cutting through Sebastian’s protest like a blade.

Sebastian groaned, slumping back in his seat. “Unbelievable.” He turned back to his plate as Ominis stood, turning toward me, his voice was quieter now. “Can we talk? Before class?”

“Of course,” I said, a little too quickly, as I hurriedly gathered my things to follow him out the door.

Sebastian’s voice followed us as we left. “Oh sure, you two aren’t making this look suspicious at all.”

I paused just long enough to shoot him a grin over my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sebastian. If we were plotting something, you’d be the last to know.”

His jaw dropped, caught between laughter and indignation. “I hope you two are plotting something, just so I can say I was right!”

The courtyard was cold, the December air biting at my skin, but Ominis seemed unaffected. He stopped beneath an archway, his posture relaxed but purposeful. Before I could say a word, he spoke.

“I didn’t tell him,” he said quietly, his voice firm.

“I didn’t think you would,” I replied, though the relief I felt was undeniable.

He stood there for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer.

“We should give Sebastian the spellbook tonight,” he said. “If you think you’ve found what you need.”

I hesitated, my thoughts still tangled from the weekend. “I think I have my answers,” I said finally.

He didn’t speak, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were carefully weighing my words.

“Can I know what you found?” he asked finally, his voice low and measured, carrying a gravity that made the question feel far more significant than it should have.

There was something in his tone, gentle but probing, that made me falter. “Another time,” I replied softly, the words feeling heavier than I intended. It was too fresh, too tangled to unravel now.

Silence stretched between us. It felt like the calm before a storm.

“He’s going to be angry with us,” Ominis said suddenly, his tone matter-of-fact. “Which is why a public place is best to break the news.”

“I agree,” I said, exhaling slowly. “He’s going to have so many questions. You know how he is, he won’t let it go.”

He adjusted the cuff of his robe, his fingers steady, before turning to face me. “Leave that to me,” he said, his voice calm but resolute.

I nodded, trusting him completely. They’ve been best friends for years, if anyone could redirect Sebastian’s focus, it was Ominis.

“And the other thing…” he began slowly.

My heart leapt into my throat. “The other thing,” I echoed softly.

“No one will understand,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But maybe they don’t need to.”

Before I could reply, he reached for my hand, pulling me toward him. My heart raced as he pulled me closer, my mind caught between hesitation and the magnetic pull of his touch. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if this was reckless, but his arms around me silenced every doubt.

“Let them talk,” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips met mine and the world around us seemed to fall away. I could feel the weight of stares, the whispers starting to build, but I didn’t care. And neither did he.

When we finally pulled apart, our fingers still intertwined, Ominis’s voice was steady and clear. “Let them talk. The Gaunt name is powerful enough to silence them.”

In that moment, it struck me; while he was shaping me, I was leaving my mark on him too. The darkness I had embraced was reaching for him, pulling him closer to a legacy he had always resisted. Yet here he was, wielding the power of our name with a confidence I hadn’t seen before. It was both thrilling and terrifying, watching him step into the role of a true Gaunt.

As we walked to Potions class hand in hand. As the whispers grew quieter behind us, I couldn’t help but wonder how long we could keep walking unbothered by them, and how much louder they would grow once Sebastian found out. Ominis didn’t flinch.

______________________________________________________________

As we made our way to our usual stations in Potions, the familiar hum of the classroom began to settle. I barely had a moment to take my seat when a voice, firm and authoritative, cut through the noise like a wand’s precise slash.

“Ms. Gaunt”

I turned sharply, startled by the sound of my name. Professor Fig stood at the doorway, his expression a mix of urgency and purpose. “I hate to interrupt, but I need you in my office.”

Ominis turned to me, his brow furrowing slightly. “Go,” he said softly, his voice steady with reassurance. “It sounds important. Hog’s Head tonight. Seven.”

And before I could process the weight of his words or the exchange, Ominis leaned in, his hand brushing mine as he kissed me again, right there, in the middle of Professor Black’s classroom.

My heart leapt to my throat as a soft gasp escaped me, but Ominis didn’t seem to notice, or care. His confidence was unshakable, his touch grounding, even as whispers began to ripple through the room like a low tide.

I broke away quickly, my face flushed, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Ominis!” I whispered sharply, glancing around. His lips quirked in a subtle smile, his composure irritatingly intact.

“Let them talk,” he said again, his tone light and unbothered.

I ducked out of the room, my heart hammering in my chest as I followed Professor Fig down the corridor.

“You’ve made quite a name for yourself already,” Fig said as we walked, his tone tinged with something between amusement and curiosity.

I let out a nervous laugh, clutching my cloak tighter. “Not entirely by choice,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Fig didn’t respond immediately, leading me through the maze of hallways until we reached his office. The familiar clutter greeted me, scrolls stacked high, strange contraptions that hummed with magic, and the faint scent of aged parchment. He gestured for me to sit, his face growing more serious as he began.

“There’s a hidden chamber in the castle,” Fig said, his voice low and deliberate, each word weighted with significance. “And we’ll need the Ancient Magic book you found to unlock its secrets.”

He gestured toward the map sprawled across his desk, the parchment worn and marked with faint lines that hinted at hidden paths and forgotten places. His finger traced a careful path, pausing near an area I vaguely recognized.

“You’ll need to bring it with you when you return to the Restricted Section,” he continued, his tone thoughtful but firm. “I suspect the chamber’s location is close to where you first encountered these traces of ancient magic.”

I hesitated, the weight of the book suddenly feeling heavier than it had before.

Fig watched me carefully before adding, “This has to remain between us.”

I nodded slowly, the responsibility pressing against me like a lead weight. “I understand,” I said, though the words tasted heavier than I’d expected.

Fig offered a faint smile, a flicker of reassurance that did little to quell the unease curling in my stomach. “Good. Be prepared, Andromeda.”

______________________________________________________________

The day wasn’t slowing down. With only a few minutes to spare, I pulled my cloak tighter around me and headed toward the Magical Beasts paddock. The crisp morning air stung against my skin as I walked across the frost-kissed grass. The rhythmic crunch of my boots against the frozen ground filled the silence between my thoughts.

I wasn’t sure what I dreaded more, seeing Juniper in Magical Beasts, knowing she would have heard every rumor swirling through the school, or the wait until seven o’clock. Ominis would be there, and I needed that reassurance, needed to soothe the thoughts rattling inside my head. But of course, that was also when we would face Sebastian, with his million questions and inevitable lecture.

The other students were already gathering, their breath curling into the cold morning air. I barely had time to take my usual spot before Juniper spotted me. The moment her sharp blue eyes locked onto mine, I knew I wasn’t escaping this conversation.

She wasted no time, striding over with purpose.

"He's your uncle," she said, her voice low but firm, each word landing like a stone. "Your great-uncle, Andromeda."

I exhaled sharply, trying to keep my face neutral. "I know."

Her jaw clenched. "That's not the point."

She studied me, her eyes searching for cracks I was desperate to keep hidden. "You're messing with the threads of time. You need to be careful."

I frowned, the words striking a nerve I hadn’t realized was exposed. "It’s not like that."

Juniper leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Isn’t it? Because it feels exactly like that."

Frustration flared, hot and unwelcome. I grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer, my grip tighter than necessary. "Stop. We don’t even exist in the same timeline."

She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, she met my gaze with a quiet defiance that made my stomach twist. "That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter."

I released her wrist, stepping back, the space between us suddenly too vast. My heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the truths I refused to face.

Juniper’s expression softened, but her voice remained steady. "What if you change something? Even something small?"

I opened my mouth to argue, but she wasn’t finished.

“What if you get too attached?” she whispered, her voice threading through the air like a curse.

“I won’t,” I answered quickly.

Juniper didn’t look convinced. She leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unrelenting. “Are you sure? Because it seems like you already are.”

I wanted to argue, to snap back with something cutting, something that would push her doubt away. But the truth sat between us, heavy and undeniable.

She didn’t wait for me to answer. “If you’re not attached, then stop talking to him.”

I exhaled sharply, frustration prickling under my skin. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Juniper’s voice was casual, but the edge beneath it was impossible to miss. “Seems simple enough to me. You’re not attached, right? So walk away.”

“I can’t,” I snapped. The words hung there, brittle and raw. I lowered my voice. “He understands things I can’t explain to anyone else. It’s not about—” I caught myself, clenching my jaw. “It’s not just about him.”

Juniper arched a brow. “Yeah. Any excuse, huh?”

Her words hit harder than I expected. I opened my mouth, ready to defend myself, but nothing came out. What could I say that wouldn’t sound like exactly what she accused me of—an excuse?

She sighed, the fight draining from her expression, leaving something softer in its place. “Just… be careful, Andromeda. He’s not the only one who can unravel you.”

Professor Howin’s voice cut through the tension, calling the class to order, but her words lingered like an echo I couldn’t shake.

The rest of the lesson dragged. So did the next. And the one after that.

Until finally, the hour crept closer.

Seven o’clock.

The Hog’s Head.

Ominis. And Sebastian. Waiting, with his inevitable interrogation.

There was no avoiding it now.