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orqheuss · 1 year ago

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The sun does not weep for Icarus PART 4 FINALE

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST) Can be read as platonic, implied Ominis/Anne and Sebastian

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Summary:

The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful. *** It was time. Time to go to Azkaban; time to greet their best friend for the final time. Even with all their preparing, all their planning so their scheme would be pulled off perfectly, were they truly ready for this?

Word count: 9.9k

Tags: graphic depictions of child abuse, assisted suicide, emetophobia, major character death

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

For this final chapter, I am recommending the songs "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb" by The Oh Hellos, "I Know the End" by Pheobe Bridgers, "Fourth of July" by Sufjan Stevens, and "Je te laisserai des mots" by Patrick Watson.

Chapter 4: I Am Not There, I Did Not Die

Light danced across the Transfiguration courtyard as the sun reached its lowest point in the sky, winking at the fast approaching night before tucking itself into the thick, white clouds for its nightly slumber. Shadows stretched across the stone floors, catching briefly on the statue that rested in the center atop a grand fountain. The woman in the sculpture was gaunt in form, small and malnourished; if she wasn’t made of stone she would surely blow away with a particularly strong breeze. Long hair flowed from her head and drooped down her shoulders, resting just below her hips, its edges frayed and sticking up in different directions like she hadn’t taken care of it in some time. She wore traditional wizard robes, a long beautiful dress with an intricately decorated cloak draped over her shoulders. The cloth seemed to fall from her body and pool at the ground like it was no longer form fitting; her bony collarbones peaked through the depressed fabric. Long, lithe fingers covered her face in anguish. Only the apples of her cheeks and her mouth were visible, her lips twisted into a sorrowful wail as silver painted tear tracks streaked downwards from her covered eyes. The statue was meant to be a symbol of heartbreak— the lack of care for oneself when something you loved was long gone from your life. Standing in her shadow were two students, hoods pulled over their faces to shield their watchful eyes from any onlookers milling about the castle, astutely unaware that they were resting in the shadow of their future. The tallest of the two craned his neck towards the overcroft walkway diagonal to them, listening carefully for any sign of movement. All that was heard was the skuttle of tiny animal paws against the cracked concrete; likely a cat, he mused. Nodding his head to his partner in confirmation, the duo sprinted across the large courtyard, careful to stay in the shadows and away from the bright rays of the setting sun. They had to be as discreet as possible— any wrong move and their entire operation would come crashing down around them like the end of the world itself. The pair of students made their way along the darkened walls of the Transfiguration courtyard, slinking through the exit on the other side and pausing behind one of the many stone braziers lining the walkway, carefully monitoring the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway adjacent. It was around dinner time, so their peers would either be in the Great Hall or making their way there from each of the four common rooms. The only sound that could be heard was the cool wind outside blowing through the arches lining the walkway and the steady breaths of the two fifth years. Small puffs of fog bellowed out of their chapped lips before they were gently carried away by the chilled wind of winter. A shiver ran down their already taut spines, each tense with anticipation and unease. The duo gave one final scan of the hall, double and triple checking for any sign of life, before bolting towards the far corner where the secret entrance of the Undercroft lay. The smaller of the two quickly unlocked the mechanism and squeezed through the shallow doorway before ushering their companion through the entrance and down the stairs. The gunmetal gate whined at their return to the secret fortress in the underbelly of the school. Once safely inside, the pair shucked the hoods from their heads, panting slightly in perturbation, before turning to face the other head on.

It was time.

From under his robes, Ominis pulled out the invisibility cloak. It had taken slightly longer than anticipated to retrieve from Diagon Alley, a full week instead of a matter of days, leaving them six days to get to Azkaban and find their friend. The iridescent fabric caught the light of the floating candles near the ceiling and glimmered a multitude of colors, small flecks of rainbows dancing on the walls around them. It was just big enough to shield one of them from the eyes of the guards, the other would be disguised as someone else under a polyjuice potion. Ominis would be the one taking the potion, as he knew the mannerisms of the person they chose as the best fit, while he would be holding on to his friend under the cloak so they could lead him without his wand. The blinking light would surely give him away in the vast prison. He may not be as famous as the rest of his family, but he was at least known enough for others to spot his disability.

The two sat on the conjured couches at the center of the room, each taking one loveseat and placing the different parts of their plan onto the table before them. The invisibility cloak draped over the wood like a beautiful tablecloth, reminding the sighted fifth year of the place settings around Christmas. Atop rested three vials, one containing the putrid green polyjuice potion, one containing the golden, lustrous hue of felix felicis, and one containing a new concoction that they had created.

The two fifth years had snuck into the potions classroom the night before, testing out the invisibility cloak and how well it would work to their needs. In a mortar and pestle they crushed the small purple nightshade berries with its stems and leaves, which were just as if not more deadly than the fruit, together into a thick paste before dumping it into a small cauldron heated by an incendio charm. The plant brewed for an hour, distilling down to a fine syrup that was easy to drink. The fifth year had the idea to add some sugar to the pot in order to make it more palpable— something Ominis dryly laughed at. They were sweetening poison so it went down easier, what a stupidly caring thing to do.

The final vial was filled with their poison, the liquid inside swirling with shades of plum and red wine— little seeds of the berry still floating in it. The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful.

Ominis stared unseeing into the open space above the table, his eyes glazed over in deep, destitute contemplation. His hands were pressed together in a prayer shape, pointer fingers just slightly touching his lips and his thumbs resting under his chin; his elbows rested on his knees, his body hunching over like a statue at rest. Vibrations rocked through the couch under him and shook the table from his rapidly bouncing leg; nervous energy convulsing in his veins and ricocheting out of his body like a bullet in a chamber. The boy prepared himself for what he had to do— who he was about to turn into. He may not know faces, but he knew body language and speaking patterns, and this particular one haunted his nightmares more often than he had a peaceful night's rest. The vial of hair resting in his cloak pocket burned against his skin like one thousand suns. He had to sneak into his family home to get it, somewhere he hadn’t been in a very long time. There was no one that he hated more in this world than his family, and he was about to become one of them.

His friend stretched their arm across the table, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. They knew what he was about to do would be inordinately hard for him— to become someone he hated more than anything else in the world weighed heavily on his heart and sent panicked jitters through his limbs. His fight or flight would be kicking in at that moment if it hadn’t fizzled out long ago at the hands of the family that was meant to care for him.

He was just a child when his family first began their heinous torture— no more than the age of five when they first wanted him to wield dark magic against those who “wronged” them. His magic had barely shown itself, only little bursts of scattered sparks sprinkling from his fingertips had appeared at that point. He was a fairly late bloomer in the Gaunt household, which of course was blamed on his physical “defect,” as they so often put it. He was lesser than them in their eyes, not truly carrying the Gaunt name if he could not do everything that they did. Instead of strong, intimidating, and regal, he was nothing but a weak child— a stain on their good family name. The first time they had ever tortured him was when he was four, a tiny thing made of all bones and sharp angles even then. His mother had received his marks in the mail from the private magic school they sent him to; every Gaunt had to attend and keep up the family image. He had struggled with school when he was younger, unable to do things as easily as his peers without the gift of sight. He didn’t have his wand yet, so in layman's terms he was quite literally flying blind. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise that he would get terrible marks on his tests, both academic and skill based, but his mother was furious. She had shouted at him for hours in their large family room before his father came home. Ominis had always questioned the name of the space— his family never spent time together, even at dinner, so why would they have a room dedicated to something they most definitely weren’t? The question truly solidified in his mind that day when his father walked through the door. If his mother was furious, his father was absolutely seething.

The older Gaunt had never cared for his son, not since the announcement of his disability by the au pair taking care of his mother and helping her through the birth. As the youngest in his family of four siblings, he was already more of a nuisance than anything. Even his name, Ominis, did not match with the rest of the family; each of his siblings had a name starting with M, Marvolo, Morphina, and Metis, and he was ostracized before he even knew about the cruelties of the world— the cruelties of the sacred twenty-eight pureblood families of the wizarding world.

His father had entered the family room that day, an aura of daunting domineerance flowing from his person and permeating the air with the scent of his signature cologne and the pure, unfiltered rage that always seemed to follow him. He remembered the sound of his mother thrusting his terrible marks at his father, explaining exactly what his professor had said to her and his performance in class. They didn’t care that he was genuinely trying his best, all they saw was a disgusting failure— a black spot on their pristine family tree. His father had joined in the belittling then, spittle flying at him and littering his son’s face from the close proximity of his face to the young boy’s. Ominis determinedly willed himself to not cry, something a young boy of his age would have normally been expected to do. In his family, tears were seen as a sign of weakness— any shift in demeanor that wasn’t deemed “appropriate” was. His struggles were for naught, unfortunately, as in horror he felt a tear leak down his cheek and gather at the corner of his mouth. Everything seemed to pause, the space around him getting eerily silent. For a moment he thought that his parents had left the room, but he knew that they would want him to know that they were abandoning him there. They would want him to feel the sting of their absence. That was until he felt the sharp sting of the back of a hand connect against his cheek; the ring his father always wore with the Gaunt insignia adorning it carving into his face and drawing a small bubbling of blood to the surface of his ghastly pale skin. He had sat in shock for a moment, unsure of what he was supposed to do— how he was supposed to act . He had never heard his parents strike his siblings, the territory was entirely unheard of to the young boy. More tears pooled in his eyes against his will, and he fought valiantly to keep them tucked away behind his lashes. His lip wobbled with desperately contained cries, his teeth digging into the flesh to stop its incessant movement. But, just because he may not be able to see doesn’t mean that the rest of his family was blind. His father tracked the boy’s expressions, infuriated at the weak will of his youngest son. He would give him something to truly cry about. At that moment, Ominis felt the violent pain of the cruciatus curse for the first time. His tiny body crashed to the ground as he writhed in anguish, demented, childish screams clawing their way out of his throat as he struggled to breath around the incapacitating agony. His father had continued to scold the child, kicking him in the stomach and sending him heaving onto his side as he continued to spew nonsense about blood purity, the image of the family, and his role in their future. He remembered biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, pushing himself to silence his constant wails so he could avoid a worse punishment. Once he was released from the curse, only then did his mother and father leave— one last word about his disappointment on the family name hissing from their lips like a threatened black mamba. They had forced him to clean up his own blood from the pristine carpet that night.

Now, after so many years of avoiding the man, the reflection of Erebus Gaunt, his father, stood under the candlelight of the Undercroft. Ominis could feel the strength of his father’s shoulders resting atop his arms, the tautness of his neck and straight back that only came from years of training. His hands were the thing that unnerved him the most; they were so much larger than his, seeming to fill the entire space with their intimidating size. He refused to speak, the very idea of hearing his father’s voice come out of his throat sent tremors from the top of his spine to the bottom of his toes.

His friend stood just behind him in the reflection, looking at the boy in the man’s body in barely hidden disdain. Ominis had confided in them about the torture he underwent from his kin, and they wanted nothing more than to hex that insufferable Gaunt family tree into the next century. Alas, there would be other moments for such violence. As if they could see the thoughts spiraling in his mind, they spoke resolutely over his shoulder.

“You may as well say something now so you don’t startle yourself later. You can make him say anything you want, at least, so if there’s anything you want to get off your chest I would do it now.”

Ominis sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, thinking about what foul words he could spew from the normally regal man’s mouth. He could make him say whatever he wanted, whatever he desired most. Ideas filled his mind, each speaking over the other like a batch of rowdy bar patrons. Maybe an “I love you?” He had never heard that one before, at least not from his father. A simple “I’m proud of you, son?” No, he knew neither would sound genuine, nor did he want to hear the man say either of those to his face. If his father said those words to him, he was doing something incredibly wrong with his life. Instead, what he settled on was,

“I’m a huge fucking twat.”

His friend barked a startled laugh, letting it titter off naturally and smacking him gently on the back in pride. “There you go, absolutely brilliant as always.”

Ominis enjoyed their laugh. It seemed to fill the room with a little bit of sunshine, covering its normally dark and dreary existence for just a moment. He had to find things about his friends that he could latch onto— things that someone with sight would normally not notice. Instead of faces, he recognized voices, steps, heartbeats, scents, anything that he could hear or smell. His new friend sounded like sunshine after a storm, each word from them causing a small smile to creep at the corners of his mouth unconsciously. They smelled like the morning dew, and a little bit like gunpowder— like they had been around fireworks for a little too long. He found comfort in them.

Ominis turned from the broken mirror leaning on the Undercroft wall and faced his partner in crime head on. His stomach was alight with nerves, butterflies roughly smacking into the lining of his gut and sending flutters of tension into his throat. With a steady, minutely calming breath, he steeled himself for what was to come.

With a nod of his stoic head, the two students gathered the rest of their materials and set off into the great unknown.

The turbulent sea struck the side of their small boat as they approached the far away island. Azkaban’s looming shape towered over the waves, cascading foreboding shadows over the surf and sending a bone-chilling shiver up the spines of the two young magic users. Ominis could sense the danger nearby— feel the dread seeping into his soul from the plethora of dementors flying above their heads. Even this far from their horrifying forms, he could faintly hear the sounds of his worst nightmares plaguing his mind— Anne collapsing to the floor in agony for the first time in front of him, breaking a glass in her hand and nearly smacking into the corner of the coffee table; the sound of Sebastian’s cries, tucked away in bed with a hand over his mouth to muffle his sorrow the night before he was cast out of Hogwarts; the shallow breathing of his newest friend as they lied in a hospital bed, the smell of blood still clinging to their clothes after a particularly nasty bout of ashwinders took them by surprise, and the fear that he had felt about if they were going to survive or not. Ominis pushed it all away to the best of his ability, trying to get into the headspace of his arsehole of a father before they reached the coast of the prison. He prepared for the foul things he needed to say— the grotesque things he needed to do in order to get into the fortresses walls.

His hands shook around his wand at the re-emergence of his worst memory: the first time he ever cast the cruciatus curse on a muggle. The little girl couldn’t have been much older than he was. His older brother, Marvolo, had taken her off of the streets, laughing to his family later that night about how he had tricked her with a sugar-sweet voice and the promise of a nice warm fire for the night. He could remember her soft whimpers as he approached, the fear that permeated the air around her and mingling with the salty scent of her tears. His father had leaned down and hissed into his ear, promising him that if he didn’t do this and prove himself to the family that he would suffer a fate worse than the girl at the hands of his entire family— extended and all. He shuddered to think about what that punishment could have been, even to this day. His hand shook around his fathers wand, thrust into his chest not long before that and still burning with the residual heat of his previous spell, as he leveled it as best he could towards the girl. His mother had grasped his wrist harshly, twisting his arm in annoyance and pointing it directly at the little girl’s chest. He remembered the numbing pain in his chest, the fear in his mind at what his family would do to him if he failed. He wanted nothing more than to apologize to the little muggle; someone so frightened and unaware of why they were there and what was about to happen to them. If his parents weren’t there, he liked to think that he would have— maybe he and the young girl could have even been friends if he so wished it. In another world, another timeline, perhaps. The spell ripped its way through his wand arm and flew from the tip of his borrowed weapon, smacking into the girl and sending a torrential downpour of pain down her feeble body. He remembered her screams more than anything, the pleas of her tiny voice begging for mercy and for the pain to stop . Her wails filled his mind and haunted his dreams for weeks after that.

Ominis threw his head over the side of the boat, dry heaving at the bile rising in his throat and threatening to expel his dinner into the salty depths below, like he did that night— the moon illuminating his sickly pale face as he vomited into his mother’s flower garden all those years ago.

The two students reached the desolate island right as the moon reached its highest point in the sky. The terrain was incredibly uneven, leaving Ominis to already need to reach his hand out and grasp at the invisible cloak covering his friend for stability. As the pair approached the front entrance, the young Gaunt tried to morph his facial expression into one of his fathers. He had never felt the man's face, never wanted to really, so it was a guessing game at that point. He settled for a neutral scowl, his eyebrows slightly pinched together at the bridge of his nose in a look of constant annoyance. A Gaunt always believed that they were better than everyone.

Under the low lamplight, a guard came into focus. Ominis could hear his heartbeat, fairly strong and steady for someone surrounded by the worst creatures ever discovered in the wizarding world— likely not a good thing. His friend quietly whispered his description to the boy, and he wracked his mind for any inclination that he had met the man before. His father had many people that worked at the Ministry in the palm of his hand— he had to if he wanted to continue to get away with his blatant use of dark magic. The description did not seem familiar to him, but everything clicked into place when a whispered name came from his left.

“Yaxley.”

The name rang a bell in his mind; he had never met the man, but he had heard his father talking to him in his study before. Not that he was ever invited around his fathers friends in the first place— too much of a disappointment to the Gaunt name, he supposed. He could hear the man stand from his post, the illuminated tip of his wand casting over in the direction of his approaching form. He straightened his shoulders, switching into the persona he took on whenever he was forced to attend a Gala with his family, and confidently walked up to the guard.

“Halt! Who goes there?” The guard barked, an obvious, overconfident professionalism about him.

“Come now, Yaxley. Surely we can skip such formalities among friends, can’t we?”

The voice still felt strange dancing across his tongue, like someone had crawled into his mouth and was speaking for him from behind his teeth. He held back a shiver at the gusting cold winds spiraling around the island and tried to take on a laissez faire attitude, his face relaxing slightly as to seem calm and collected.

The prison guard laughed in astonishment, stepping forward and smacking Ominis lightly on the arm. “Erebus! What are you doing here? Surely you wouldn’t make the journey all the way out here just to see me.”

Ominis pretended to sigh in indignation, the crease in his eyebrow returning and his scowl growing deeper.

“Unfortunately not. I’m here to see the Sallow boy before his date with the dementors.”

There was a pregnant pause. Ominis could feel the trepidation streaming off of Yaxley, the moral dilemma of helping out a friend and doing his duty as a Ministry worker. Curiosity got the better of the two, and the guard inquired his reasoning for the visit.

Ominis thought on his feet, quickly coming up with a believable lie. “The cretin was a friend of my youngest— somehow made him softer, if that is even possible. Sallow had him gallivanting with a disgusting mudblood, of all things, doing Merlin knows what around the campus grounds instead of studying and making good of the Gaunt name. I would like to give him my two cents while he’s still conscious enough to hear them.”

It felt like he had swallowed a stone around the wizard slur, the mass in his throat pushing the degrading word down further and making it come out slightly stuttered. Ominis held his breath, hoping that the guard didn’t notice.

A sound of hesitation came from the man before him, “I don’t know if I can do that, Erebus. He’s in the east wing— lockdown. No one’s supposed to go in or out.”

The Gaunt boy leaned towards the guard, a demanding, insistent presence next to the meek man. A commanding aura filled the space around them, dripping from his intimidating stare and eroding the stones below like acid. His face morphed into a sharp smile, his fathers pearly white teeth shining in the moonlight and stretching the skin around his mouth like a snare drum. Ominis truly felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing. When he spoke, his words were laced with sovereign-like ire— like his drawbridge of canines and molars were the only thing separating the world from his fury.

“Yaxley, my dear friend. I invited you into my home; we broke bread together. I am inclined to ignore this slight against me this once, but it would do you well to remember the kinds of people who are in my debt.” He leaned forwards slightly more, nose nearly touching nose, “How is that family of yours doing? Maybe I should send one of my… other friends to pay them a visit. They are a lot less forgiving than I.”

Ominis could feel the fear shed off of the man before him in waves. He leaned back out of Yaxley’s space, cringing lightly at the smell of sweat coming from the guard and straightening his waistcoat.

“Now, what did you say his prisoner number was, again? I promise to make the trip quick and painless.”

Yaxley shrunk backwards, hands shaking around the lock adorning the large archway of the prison and stuttering out the Elder Futhark runes of Sebastian’s Azkaban identity, “ᛣᛟ263.”

The large doorway unlatched from the ground with a loud click, slowly rising into the sky like a portal to another plain of existence. Ominis could feel each creak of the gate resonate through his bones as he prepared himself for the horrors within the prison. With one final clang, the gate disappeared into the archway above, only its prongs poking through the top like a demented fork. Without another glance at the cowering prison guard, Ominis and his invisible friend entered the famed monument by the sea and began their search for their doomed friend. Sebastian Sallow was on borrowed time.

Before the pair stood walls upon walls of cells, each one filled with the most dangerous people known to all of wizard kind. Wails of grief, regret, and woe filled their ears and nearly sent them to their knees— the volume only getting louder as the sound waves echoed off the cathedral style ceilings. His friend took Ominis’ hand once they were in the clear and were now leading him through the maze of tortured souls, each one in a worse state than the last. Dark wizards lined the bays, some lying on their sides and clutching at their heads as they screamed in fear; their worst memories filling their minds on a constant loop. Some were pacing their tiny square cell, muttering to themselves and twitching like someone was flicking them every so often directly on the ear. Ominis had never heard anything like the sounds of Azkaban. It was like the dagger-shaped building harnessed the howls of the condemned and amplified it tenfold, floating it towards the very top of the building and sending it out through the skylight looming above their heads. He kept his head high and shoulders back as he walked the dreary halls, passing each guard with barely an acknowledgement to avoid suspicion. To anyone else, he was just a very important man making a quick visit, nothing more, nothing less. The two students made their way towards the east wing of the prison, creeping carefully up the decaying spiral staircase at the center of the large tower and stopping on the second floor. Once reaching the top, it was like they had suddenly stepped out of a whirling tornado into the still air of the eye of the storm. The hallways were eerily silent, not one cry to be heard. It was like someone had cast a silencing charm on the entire wing— nothing could be heard outside of its ominous silence. He could sense each person in their little, crate sized rooms, all looking exactly the same: their bodies curled against themselves, arms resting atop of their bent knees, and their faces either turned towards the wall or tucked into their chest. They had reached dementor alley, the land where no one ever returned the same as they once were. Every person on the floor had given up, either accepting their fate or simply pretending like they were already dead. Ominis couldn’t help but feel sorry for the people— their fate aligned with something worse than death: the destruction of their very soul. They were lost, deep in the chasms of their own minds without a safety rope in sight to pull them out.

The boy felt a tug at his cloak, his friend alerting him of the blockade before them. Ominis flicked his wand slightly out of his sleeve, activating the location charm and looking closely at what was in their way. Directly in front of them was another guard, leaning against one of the pillars between two cells. His face was turned away from the pair, so far unaware of their presence. His friend tugged at him again, whispering as quietly as possible.

“That’s Sebastian’s cell— 263.”

Ominis’ heart dropped slightly in his chest, a lump of anxiety quickly forming in his throat.

Shit.

They had to get around the guard somehow. He quickly scanned his wand around the floor below his feet, searching for something that he could use as a distraction. A spell would certainly alert the other man in the hall, and as much as he would like to think it, he wasn’t nearly good enough at wandless magic yet to do something to that caliber— an accio here and there, sure, but not something large enough to draw the attention away from the pair of magic wielders. The duo crept closer, steps gentle and precise like walking on a thin sheet of ice above the freezing cold waters of a frozen lake, before quickly skidding behind the nearest column.

Ominis could feel the polyjuice potion beginning to wear off— they had to act fast. He began to panic slightly, images of himself in one of the terrible Azkaban prison uniforms, locked behind heavy bars in a tiny room barely big enough for him to lie across the floor. If they got caught, they would get two years of imprisonment, at least . The thought alone made Ominis want to chug the poison hiding in his robes just to save himself the trouble.

The fifth year next to him quickly drew their wand, prodding the boy in his stomach to stop his incessant breathing. Now was not the time for panicking. They leaned around the curve of the pillar, checking both directions before leaning close to the thin boy’s ear, whispering their quickly concocted plan.

“You aren’t going to like what I’m about to say, but it’s the only option we’ve got.” They took a deep breath, “We need to use the imperius curse. I know how you feel about that kind of magic, so I am willing to cast it, but we need to act fast. You’re beginning to look like yourself again.”

Ominis winced at the ferocity of their words, shocked but also somewhat resigned to the idea. It was the best plan they currently had, and their goal was so close they could reach out and brush their fingers against the cold steel of the prison bars. His mind briefly flashed back to the day in Slytherin’s Scriptorium; their friend had barely known him at the time and yet still took the cruciatus curse so he didn’t have to go near it, nor hear his closest friend under the torturous effects of the deadly spell. They were so much stronger than he was, and he felt like he owed it to them to do this. He couldn’t let them step out from under the cloak; one wrong move, one prison guard turning around a corner at the worst time, and everything would go up in flames. Ominis could do this, he had to.

The young Gaunt sighed deeply out of his nose, the crease between his eyebrows beginning to feel permanent. He owed the person next to him, just the same as he owed Anne. He couldn’t turn back now, even with the devilish smirk of dark magic looming above his head like a macabre marionette puppeteer. He shook out his shoulders, swishing the rest of his wand out of his sleeve and raising it up to his chest. A dauntless visage crossed his features, his jaw was clenched and his eyes steely. Only those closest to him would notice the slight shake of his hands, the slight stutter of his breathing.

Some would say that being brave is just another word for being afraid. Ominis thought those people could go shove it.

The invisible student placed a hand on his arm, their warmth seeping through his belled sleeve and easing his shivers slightly. No words needed to be said, they knew what he was preparing himself to do.

They both stepped back into the dimly lit hallway, making their way to the cell holding their closest friend until his untimely death and the man that guarded the entrance. They only had one shot at this, so they had to make it absolutely perfect. Stopping just shy of the room, the blond raised his wand and leveled it at the chest of the innocent man— unaware of their quest and the heavy weight of grief resting on their conjoined shoulders. He mentally tallied how many years he would be sentenced to Azkaban for what he was about to do, the number sending stronger tremors through his arm and shaking the clear image he had in his mind from the locator charm. His friend stood just over his shoulder; their heart crumpling in their chest at the sight of the once resolute young wizard dissolving before their very eyes. They gently ran their hand down his arm, pressing their calming heat throughout his limb before carefully wrapping their fingers around his wrist and holding him steady.

Ominis blinked at the soft touch, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath in, completely filling his lungs, before exhaling through his nose like a sleeping dragon.

They would do this together, just like how everything started in the first place.

In a hushed whisper, Ominis cast his first unforgivable curse in years. Imperio.”

From the tip of his wand flowed a soft, cerulean haze. The tendrils crept towards the prison guard, gently curling around and entering through any opening it could find— his nose, his mouth, his ears, his eyes— and lulling him into a sweet, peaceful oblivion. The glow of his irises cast a soft shadow on the young wizard before him, watching the eyes of his attacker make the final shift from an iridescent blue, the Gaunt family color, to a muted, milky grey without a care in the world. Ominis stood straighter, the hand of his friend falling from his wrist moving to lightly hold on to his bicep, and spoke in the most monotone voice he could muster to the human puppet.

“Open the door and stand guard outside of cell 263. Do not let anyone inside or near the room until we have left and are out of sight.”

The guard nodded his head, unlocking the cage and standing to the side for the two students to enter.

The new fifth year moved to enter the room, already slightly moving the cloak from their head and searching for the Sallow boy on the other side. Ominis grabbed at their shoulder, quick as a viper strike, and stood petrified with haunting fear. His eyes were wide in his skull, finally morphing back into his body, and his chest stuttered under the weight of his breaths. He didn’t know what lay on the other side of the old, creaking gate, and he was terrified of what he would see. Was Sebastian truly there? Was there any semblance of his friend remaining to save, or was he already gone? The dead eyes of the once exuberant, jocund male Sallow twin would hurt him worse than his death would. If he wasn’t there anymore, everything they had done for him, and for Anne, would be for naught.

A young, first year Ominis shook behind his eyes, locked inside his own mind as he desperately banged against the space inside his temple and begged his limbs to move— to do something. He didn’t understand why his body wasn’t running to his best friend and throwing everything, every emotion he had, at him. Sebastian was hurt, he was dying, so why was he doing nothing? The childish boy that still rested behind his eyes after all these years, unaware of how truly terrible the world could be outside of the four walls of the Gaunt manor, sobbed for his friend, his brother, and the terror he must be facing, but his body did nothing. The disconnect between his two sides felt like standing at the middle of a bridge overlooking a colossus chasm— to the left a pack of hungry cannibals stood ready to tear the flesh from his bones, while to the right stood his entire family in all its villainous, inbred glory, with their wands alight with red lightning raised directly at his heart.

Just as the boy was prepared to tuck his tail between his legs and turn towards a life of lineage and pureblood pedigree, a croaking, scream damaged, but still so young sounding voice broke through the diamond-crusted walls surrounding his last iota of hope and stopped his faltering heart in his chest.

“Ominis?”

Ominis turned tail and ran towards the cannibals.

Was he running towards something he should have fled from? Or should he have turned on his heel and run away long ago? Only time would tell, and time was a malicious bitch.

The sound of creaking metal swinging open filled the wretchedly silent hallway and alerted the arrival of the two young wizards to the long lost third member of their group. Sebastian sat tucked away in the farthest corner from the door, bare of everything except the thin material of the striped prison jumpsuit. Skin seemed to hang from his bones like a well cooked rotisserie chicken, making him look even more gaunt than his longtime companion. Black circles filled all inches of space under his lower eyelids making his face look similar to a skeleton, and his cheeks had begun to sink into his face leaving stark lines of bone stretching from his ears to his pointed chin. The only thing the same on the malnourished boy were his eyes— still a brilliant brown and shining like amber pools of honey were injected directly into the irises. Ominis could feel the soft warmth of his gaze across the room, and nearly wept in melancholic happiness. He was still alive, still breathing. Sebastian. His Sebastian.

Their new friend quickly cast the muffling charm just before the two boys flung themselves at the other, teetering on their feet and clutching at the cloth decorating each of their shoulders like the end of the world was knocking at their door and all they could do was sit back and let it take them. Sobs wracked the taller of the two, his bony hands clutching at the lapels of his brother and hugging him with every last bit of strength he had left. Ominis had one hand buried in Sebastian’s hair, grease and grime covering the once silken tresses, and the other pressing the boy as close to his heart as he could get, like if they moved any closer they would become the same person. He hadn’t expected this reaction when he had set off towards the island earlier that day, but nothing could have prepared him for the pure, relieved joy that filled his chest at the sound of the freckled boy’s voice. Tears clung to his eyelashes and spilled into the dry neck of his closest friend, washing the dirt from the patch of skin and wetting the collar of his uniform. He felt a third presence join the fray, and both boys gladly welcomed their newest friend into the embrace. The trio held each other for a few moments, time ticking by like sand through an hourglass, and grieved for all they had lost in their grand journey of life.

Sebastian was the first to leave the pile of limbs, taking each of his friends' faces into his shaking hands and looking at them like they put the stars themselves in the sky. He had so many questions for them: why did they come? How did they get there? How was Anne? How were the both of them holding up after everything? But all that came from his mouth was,

“Ominis, why are you wearing your father’s robes?”

The lithe boy chuckled softly, his hand coming up and pressing against the back of Sebastian’s resting on his cheek, leaning minutely into the comforting touch. He explained everything about their journey, bar their reasoning for now, beginning at the arrival of the Daily Prophet two weeks ago and ending at his intimidation of the front gate guardsman. Sebastian listened enraptured, fascinated and, quite frankly, so incredibly flattered at the lengths that his friends would go through to see him one last time. Tears welled in his eyes yet again at the heroic journey of the duo, quickly wiping them away with the palms of his hands before pulling them both into a hug once again.

He pulled back for a second time, a tearful smile adorning his features and making him look just the same as he did in the wide halls of Hogwarts. His eyes flickered back and forth over his two companions, the main question burning in his mind leaving his lips.

“Why are you here?” He stuttered at the forlorn looks crossing their faces, “Not that I don’t want to see you! But, why now?”

The pair remained silent, sharing a badly hidden glance of worry. Sebastian’s smile slowly fell from his lips, his hands falling from their shoulders and resting back at his side. He cradled his right arm against his chest, his left hand coming up to grasp at his right wrist before he began to pace around the small space.

“I know you didn’t come to break me out. You know that I belong here just as much as I do. So, why this mission? Why the need for secrecy?”

Ominis cleared his throat around the lump forming there. All thoughts in his brain flew out of his ears like the frost breezing across the grass on a winter morning. He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a single, white Chrysanthemum— a few of its petals missing from the bundle of sprigs and its stem beginning to droop but still holding on to life with everything it had, and placed it gently into the outstretched hands of the boy before him. Sebastian stuttered slightly at the gift, looking confused to the new fifth year he had befriended what felt like so long ago. They looked away from his burning stare, gazing at the ground as tears welled in their eyes once again. The Sallow boy began to panic, thoughts swimming in his mind about what something as small as a flower could mean. He remembered the little garden his sister had at their cottage, tucked away in the far corner by the gate and far away from the chickens. He remembered her favorite flowers and their meaning— how each color coordinated with a message of sorts. Orange, if he recalled, meant happiness, red meant love and passion, and white meant…goodbye.

His breathing stilled in his chest, his heart ceasing to beat at the thought of what the message presented to him could mean. He did not want to believe it, didn’t even want to think about who could have sent them the flower, what they could be trying to tell him.

He turned towards the other boy again, distress shedding from him like autumn leaves in the fall, and desperately implored him to explain further.

“Ominis, what does this mean? Please tell me that this doesn’t mean what I think it does.”

The young Gaunt refused to meet his gaze, his overcast-colored eyes looking just over his shoulder and filling with silvery tears.

“No. No, please, Merlin, no! Ominis please, tell me it's not true— it can’t be!”

Sebastian choked on the air rapidly filling his lungs, one hand clutching at his chest and dropping the flower to the dirt covered ground. The other shakily made its way over his mouth, covering his woebegone expression and muffling his soft cries. His legs gave out under him, sending him stumbling into the wall behind and sinking down to his knees. The boy curled around himself, his hands now reaching to grab and pull at the hair at the base of his skull and lowering his forehead towards the cold ground. Loud wails flew from his already damaged throat, garbled strings of apologies to his dearly departed sister breaking through the earth shattering pain every so often. His friends sank to the ground at either side of the sobbing boy, running their hands along his spine and pressing their temples against his shoulder blades; sobs wracking their bodies as they grieved along with the last remaining Sallow. They slowly brought him out of his hunched over posture, gently placing him between the both of them with his back resting against the stone wall. Sebastian’s head was tucked under Ominis’ chin, the smaller boy stroking at his long gone curls and sending sweet shushes in their stead. His new friend had their arms around the freckled boy’s waist, their face against his shoulder while they pressed soft, fluttering kisses to his exposed skin. They could feel his heart shattering in his chest, each shard breaking off in pairs before stabbing their sharp edges into some other organ or patch of skin. Sebastian sobbed for his sister, for the life that she could have lived if he wasn’t so selfish. He lamented his own choices, his stubborn and headstrong nature. Never once did he ask his sister what she wanted, what she needed him to do for her in her time of need. All he cared about was his desire to not lose her, and that was exactly what had happened in the end. He was the last of his name, the last in his family line, and all he could do was wait for the inevitable downward strike of death's blade when it was his time to join them once again in the afterlife.

In that moment, Sebastian Sallow finally gave up.

Once his tears subsided enough, he leaned back from the comfort of his friends and retreated into himself— his dead eyes looking at the wall across from him in numbing acceptance. He had become like the others on his row, their dead stares and startling silence seemed to take over his body like a ghost. In a voice of resignation, he spoke to the two sitting next to him.

“So, what now?” A single tear made its way down his cheek, gathering at the corner of his mouth. He made no move to wipe it away. “Why else have you come?”

Ominis reached into his cloak once again, grasping at the small vial resting there and placing it into Sebastian’s open palm. The boy slowly looked down at his hand, regarding the tiny glass jar of swirling purple liquid with little interest. He leaned his head slightly in the direction of the other boy, indignation lacing his tone.

“Enough of the silence— I deserve at least that much. What is this that you’ve given me?”

The young wizard cleared his throat of the tears still lingering there, resting his hand over the lone Sallow twin’s and encapsulating the little sample between their palms.

“Anne had one last wish, before she—” He cleared his throat again, stuttering around the final words. “She asked us to save you in the only way she knew how— the only way that would guarantee that you both would see each other again.”

He looked over at his friend to continue, his voice lodging itself just under his jaw and refusing to exit the comfort of his soft palate.

The fifth year ran their fingers through Sebastian’s hair once again, bringing their hand back and resting it on his upper arm. “In that vial is a dose of muggle poison— we brewed it ourselves. It is in your hands now; you can either take the poison and be free from this all, or you can wait a few more days for the dementors kiss. We won’t make this decision— we can’t do that for you.”

Sebastian considered their words, rolling them around in his mind like a morose game of dice. His friend hummed in hesitation, the next words leaving their mouth against their better judgment and filling the fresh silence of the room.

“Please know, Sebastian, that this is likely the only way for you to see Anne, to see us again. The dementor will take your soul, and you will be nothing but a shell of a body and a barely beating heart.” They shut their eyes tightly, nails digging into their palms as if to relieve the pain building in their chest, “I don’t know what afterlife you believe in, if one at all, but we will be right here for you when you make your choice.”

Silence filled the tiny room once again, every ounce of happiness that once filled the space now sucked out with a giant black hole of despair. The three friends sat side by side, each with their hands in their laps, legs out in front of them, and head leaned against the wall behind them. Thoughts swirled through each of their minds— their subconscious trying to fill the silence that only the end of the world could bring. Sebastian muled his options around in his head, tossing back and forth his two fates. Some sick part of his brain wished that it would have been a harder decision, but he knew his choice long before the quiet fell across the cell.

He would travel to the ends of the earth for his sister, swim through the rivers of Tartarus if it meant seeing her again.

The young wizard, suddenly looking much older than he ever was, than he ever would live to be, closed his hand around the potion vial and uncorked the stopper; its soft pop pirouetted around the room and invited the sickly sweet scent of the berries to dance. Sebastian closed his eyes, a pair of twin tears falling from his lids and splashing onto the ground below, and whispered to his friends— his tiny family.

“Will it hurt?”

Ominis bit his lip to muffle his sobs, tears streaking down his face and collecting in the silk of his collared shirt. The other fifth year sniffled, before giving the scared, death-bound boy a small smile that didn’t quite meet their eyes.

“It’ll be like falling asleep.”

Sebastian nodded his head, looking down once again at the wine-colored elixir. He swallowed around the heart beating its way into his throat, before facing forward once again and lifting the vial closer to his trembling lips.

In a final, meager voice, he whispered to his best friends, “Will you stay with me?”

Ominis grabbed at the hand closest to him, holding it against his chest in a strong grip and pressing a final, feather light kiss to the boy’s knuckles. He leaned into Sebastian’s side, tucking himself under his chin and against his chest, right over where his heart beat steadily, and nodded his head.

The student on the other side of the boy placed their hand on his shoulder once again, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on the side of his forehead. They leaned their temple against where they had just touched, tears softly cascading from their eyes, and whispered against his skin.

“Until the very end.”

Sebastian leaned softly against his friends, cherishing their closeness for a moment more, before bringing the tiny, deadly thing to his lips and drinking down every last drop.

There the three wizards rested once again, tucked together like a small group of sleeping owls in a roost, until the skin of their dearly beloved friend grew cold and his heart beat no more.

Under the glow of the rising sun, its light glittering across the top of the beautiful blue sea and sending small shimmers of sea-foam green against the side of their boat, rested two students. Both gazed across the vast ocean, feeling the gentle touch of a new day’s warmth spread over their frozen forms and slowly begin to thaw their comatose limbs. Their hearts would remain like tiny glaciers in their chests, each waiting for the other to take a pick and start chipping away at the layers of frozen earth.

In a mere moment, across the tides and back on the large, lonely island, the prison guards would begin their morning rounds once again. Tucked away in the far corner of the monument lied a cell, barely enough room to stretch from one side to the other comfortably. Inside, they would find the body of their dear friend, Sebastian Sallow, the very last of his bloodline. It would look like he was simply asleep, his soft brown eyelashes just slightly ghosting across his cheekbones in an expression of peace. Against his chest would rest a small, white Chrysanthemum— a tiny, frail thing. Its petals littered the ground near his head, scattered like an incandescent halo. Four petals remained attached to the stem, one for each of them— a silent promise to find each other once again in the next life.

The news of his death would spread around the school like a forest fire. The Daily Prophet would tell the world that it was from a broken heart— the news of his sister's death being just too much for him to take. No one would bat an eye; they knew how loyal he was to her. No one would come looking for the pair of students, tucked away from prying eyes in their secret hideaway in the underbelly of the school. There they would stay until they got too hungry, too thirsty; until the world would tell them to continue on living around the hole in their heart.

They both lost something that day— be that a piece of themselves, or a piece of something they loved, or maybe even a piece of something that they had long forgotten about, something tucked away deep in the toy chests of their minds only to be found again years down the line with a thin layer of dust coating the surface.

For now, though, the two would look across the horizon and let themselves mourn the loss of their dear friend.

They did not fear the future. They knew that they would be there for the other, no matter what would come their way— no matter the terrors that lied in the twisting clouds above.

And, maybe, a good few years down the line at least, they would be reunited with their family once again.

Atop of the small, lonely hill to the east of Feldcroft rested an old sycamore tree. The sun shone down on the earth and warmed the ground below, spreading its life as far as the eye can see. Not one cloud could be found in the sky, no dreary weather making its way over the horizon to end the glorious day.

Resting under the soft shade of the tree were two children, both with a set of mousey brown hair falling from their heads and a littering of freckles sprinkling across their cheeks and nose. They laughed together in the summer sun, basking in the gentle cushion of the soft grass below, and pointing out shapes that the shadows of the leaves above made on their clothes and skin.

Down the hill from the pair stood two more forms, one slightly smaller than the other, and the other slightly skinnier. Blond hair fell across the opalescent eyes of the scrawny one, his hand coming up to push it out of the way and shield his face from the light above. The other, new to the land and wanting to take everything in, spun slowly in their spot before spotting their friends just slightly out of eyesight. They called to them, their voice filled with happiness and laughter, and received a happy welcome in return.

The two twins made their way down to their newly arrived friends, bringing each one into a long overdue hug before dragging them up the gentle slope of the earth to their tree. Pure, unadulterated joy spilled from their souls and wrapped each other in a blissful comfort— happy to finally be home at last.

There was no pain, no suffering, no death in their little paradise. Everything stayed just the way it was, and that was how they liked it.

AN: This is my absolute favorite thing that I have ever written. I poured my whole heart into this one. It started off just as a one-shot but someone requested more and I thought "hell, why not?"

I sobbed like a baby writing this final chapter. Sorry for the emotional turmoil I've caused you

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