Fragments of Time

Tap!... Tap! Tap!

Gentle, percussive taps slowly shook her awake. Her shimmery golden tresses rustled as she gradually craned her neck, blinking at the sudden intrusion of bright sunlight. Still heavy with sleep, it took her a few moments to fully grasp what she was witnessing. Pearly white feathers fluttered, accompanied by the sound of strong wings flapping and the occasional chirp of recognition. Her eyes widened with a sudden intake of breath. "Alaric?"

The owl chirped happily as she recognised her. Theowen wasted no time and opened the window of her compartment to let her old friend through. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

The wise bird swiftly landed on her outstretched arm, getting down to business as usual. The diminutive avian creature held a well-perfumed letter sealed with dark emerald wax. Though the letter bore no sender's information, she immediately knew who it was from. Suppressing a smile, she quickly glanced around to ensure there were no Muggles nearby as witnesses. With a sigh of relief, she found herself shielded from prying eyes of the 'Normals' aboard the train. Well, almost entirely thanks to luck. Here she was, enjoying the comfort of a private first-class compartment, one of the perks bestowed upon her for resolving an embarrassing curse inflicted by the heir of a noble pureblood family from France, whose identity she chose not to divulge.

It had been seven years—give or take—since she graduated from Hogwarts, and nine years since the devastating events caused by Ranrok and his goons. Through all the trials and tribulations, the loss of her mentor and father figure, Professor Fig, weighed heavily on her. The inability to break Anne's curse still haunted her every waking moment, especially the aftermath of what happened to Sebastian. She grimaced at the memory; her guilt and fear had compelled her to send her friend to Azkaban.

Amidst all that had transpired, she sometimes forgot that she was merely a fifteen-year-old girl—a child burdened with responsibilities no one so young should bear. She suspected all her friends carried a similar weight, a heavy mantle of responsibility thrust upon them too soon.

Her "Gift" or "Curse"—the ability to wield Ancient Magic, a mysterious and rarely understood form of magic—seemed to mock her in light of her failures. What good was all that power if she couldn't save her mentor and friends?

The soft coos of Alaric shook her from her thoughts, his large doe eyes staring at her knowingly. The gentle creature always seemed to sense when she was lost in unnecessary introspection. With a chuckle, she retrieved her wand and summoned some snacks for her fluffy friend before accepting the letter from him. With a flick of her wand, the wax seal broke, revealing a letter written in elegant, prim cursive—handwriting she knew all too well.

Beloved Wife,

Words cannot express how much I have missed you during your gallivanting adventures. Nevertheless, I am glad to hear of your return to England, and I trust Alaric has found you by now as your train prepares to depart from Brighton.

I have already persuaded Mr. Stroud to allow me to return home earlier than anticipated for our overdue celebrations this evening. Though he was reluctant at first due to a slew of new cases to tackle, you know well enough, my love, that I have my ways.

As much as I would delight in taking you to the opera or the ballet for our anniversary, I suspect you would prefer a relaxing dinner and a soothing bath after your journey.

Theowen chuckled warmly, marvelling at how perceptive he always seemed to be, despite his lack of sight.

Nevertheless, I eagerly anticipate our reunion later this evening.

Forever Yours,

Ominis

P.S. I have managed to procure the exact bottle of wine you mentioned the other day—the one you were eager to try but couldn't find.

Theowen smiled broadly, unable to contain her glee. She hugged the piece of paper close, the comforting scent of sandalwood and cedarwood mingled with the faint aroma of fresh ink, soothing her senses. One unexpected silver lining in her life had been marrying a Gaunt, of all people. After graduation, they had drifted apart, especially following the devastating loss of Anne, whose physical and mental strength had dwindled after Sebastian's imprisonment and the unbreakable curse she endured. The weight of Anne's fate still burdened them; they often pondered if there had been a chance to alter events, they would have seized it. Yet, choices had been made, and Anne had paid the ultimate price.

It was Anne who had inspired Theowen to pursue a career as a Curse Breaker—an unexpected path she had chosen, perhaps as a way to bury her persistent guilt.

Meanwhile, Ominis had naturally gravitated towards becoming an Auror. His exceptional duelling skills, coupled with his keen deductive nature, made it a fitting career choice. Their paths crossed unexpectedly during Theowen's investigation into a series of curses afflicting Muggles in Whitechapel—a task spurred by a distraught mother's plea. Awkward initially, they eventually reconnected and blossomed into lovers as they worked together to solve the crimes.

How was it possible for a Muggle-born to marry into a pureblood family so intent on preserving their lineage, one might ask. In Theowen's case, the opportunity arose when Marvolo Gaunt, elder brother and newly-appointed patriarch after the demise of the previous head, squandered the Gaunt family's vaults and prestige. His relentless gambling, dalliances with women, and failed attempts at philanthropy drove their debts to staggering heights, even to the point of jeopardising the historic Gaunt Manor. Eventually, Gringotts Bank seized the Gaunt Manor, forcing them to relocate to a humble village. Their once-proud estate, now reduced to squalor, was mockingly dubbed the 'Gaunt Shack' by local villagers.

Ominis had always viewed these events as a blessing in disguise, for they allowed him to break free from his cursed family once and for all. Despite his newfound liberation, however, Theowen could discern a lingering sadness behind his polished façade. There remained a trace of pride in his lineage as a direct descendant of the infamous Salazar Slytherin—though he vehemently disagreed with his family's doctrine of superiority over Muggle-borns, thanks in part to his beloved Aunt. She was the only one who cared for him and did not support the family's beliefs. She fought for a different way, believing that the Dark Arts were not the only path to power.

With one last long sigh to relax her tired limbs, she leaned back, sinking deeper into the plush velvet seat. Carefully folding the letter, she tucked it into the inner lining of her chartreuse-coloured jacket. Overhearing the station master announce the train's imminent departure, the whistle of steam echoing through the station, she turned to gaze out of the window. The sun was slowly sinking, casting a warm glow across the landscape in shades of amber and gold, a tranquil scene welcoming her final steps homeward.

Unfortunately, the weather was not in a celebratory mood—a typical London downpour with biting winds, as expected. Theowen's boots echoed against the wet pavement, joining the hurried steps of others seeking refuge from the storm. She could feel the scrutinizing gazes of fashionable ladies ensconced in the warmth of Marylebone's cafes. Drenched and bedraggled, she surmised she must resemble a drowned rat—not the ideal appearance for her anniversary. Yet, she reasoned, what did it matter, especially with her husband unable to see?

It's the thought that counts, she reminded herself, attempting to bolster her confidence despite her dishevelled state. If Ominis could see, his charming smile could likely slay with a glance.

Finally turning the familiar corner, relief washed over her as she recognised the outline of their home. She glanced down at her enchanted luggage, patting it reassuringly and murmuring a word to comfort Ominis's owl safely nestled inside. Drawing nearer, she noticed the lack of light from all but one window—the living room, dimmer than usual. Light wasn't essential for Ominis, but he always lit up their home if he arrived first.

Suppressing her negative thoughts, she dismissed it as Ominis's attempt at a romantic evening by candlelight. The gate creaked as she entered, casting a wary eye around to ensure no prying neighbours were watching before she used her wand. A whispered enchantment briefly disabled their protective charm, allowing her to open the main door.

"I'm home!" she called out, casting a quick drying spell on herself and neatly hanging her jacket on the coat rack with a flick of her wand. Setting her bag down gently, she released Alaric from his confines. The owl emerged gracefully, alighting on a nearby perch made especially for him.

"Darling? Are you home?" Theowen called again, the silence of their home unnerving. She gripped her wand tighter, cautiously stepping further into the foyer. The sinking feeling from earlier returned, an unwelcome wave crashing over her. Someone had been here, and their presence was deeply unsettling.

She glanced warily toward the living room, feeling a slight relief to find it empty. Moving onward toward the kitchen, her heels echoed against the marble floor, the downpour of rain and raging winds creating an eerie symphony through the windows and halls. It was as if nature itself warned her to flee before what was about to transpire. Wand at the ready, she cautiously inspected the kitchen, only to notice the dim light she had seen earlier was emanating from the dining room.

"You wouldn't believe the adventure I've had," she called out, her voice purposefully loud as a pretense to survey her surroundings for any lurking threats. "I'm absolutely famished, craving Italian. Shall we go out?"

"That sounds delightful," a voice responded, sending a chill down her spine. She spun around, alarmed, only to find a man standing there, dishevelled and dressed in obsidian leather, his brunette locks damp from the rain, a scar marking his cheek, and a stubbled jaw. At first, Theowen couldn't place him, assuming he was yet another Dark Arts practitioner. Then, she met his gaze—hazel eyes, just like Anne's. Her jaw dropped, and she shivered in disbelief mingled with fear.

"S-Sebastian?"

The man chuckled, arms spread wide. "The one and only, love. Missed me?"

"H-how did you get out?" she asked meekly, her eyes darting over his shoulder, searching for any sign of Ominis.

"Nine years since we last saw each other and that's the first thing you're saying?" Sebastian replied with a playful tone that thinly veiled his hostility, a reminder of his volatile nature.

Theowen gulped, realising she needed to tread carefully. Her last memory of Sebastian was of a loose cannon driven solely by emotion. She had to ensure Ominis's safety before considering escape or confronting Sebastian.

She summoned her best smile. "It's good to see you again, Sebastian."

Sebastian chuckled indignantly. "Oh, spare me. I know you don't mean it."

"I do—" Theowen began, but Sebastian cut her off, gesturing towards the dining room and beckoning her to follow.

"Looks like I've interrupted the festivities!" Sebastian exclaimed as he walked towards the dining room. "First anniversary, married to Ominis!? You two are full of surprises!"

Before she could reply, Theowen's eyes darted towards Ominis, who sat at the far end of the long oak dining table. His head tilted back, a dark wizard menacingly pressing a wand against his neck.

A surge of alertness and anger coursed through her veins. She raised her wand defiantly, but her resolve faltered as two more dark figures emerged from the shadows behind her, their wands pressing threateningly into her back.

"Tut! Tut! Always the fighter," Sebastian taunted, taking a leisurely seat in the centre of the expansive table. The old manor exuded a damp chill, illuminated only by flickering candlelight that cast eerie shadows on the worn stone walls. His hand extended towards her, his expression shifting from playful to sinister. "Be a good girl and hand over your wand."

Theowen stilled her breathing, inching forward cautiously, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Sebastian's. In a split-second decision, she flung her wand as far as she could into the living room. "Alaric!"

The owl swooped in with graceful precision, snatching the wand mid-air and darting towards the now-open window. Theowen summoned her ancient magic, blasting the window wide open to create an escape route for her loyal messenger.

Thunder rumbled ominously, and lightning illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows that danced across Sebastian's face. His features contorted with malevolence as he basked in the glow.

Her fleeting courage began to wane as fear gripped her heart. She needed to stall, to buy time until help arrived from the Ministry.

Without hesitation, Sebastian aimed his wand at her. "Crucio."

A burst of red lightning shot from his wand towards Theowen. The curse's vile words echoed through the room, and pain seared through every inch of her body. She screamed, collapsing onto the table. It felt as though her flesh and skin were tearing apart and knitting back together, while her bones seemed to split wide open. Theowen glimpsed Ominis shouting at Sebastian to stop, struggling against the wand pressed to his neck. The dark wizard holding him commanded him to remain still, warning that he would cast the next curse if Ominis resisted. She writhed in agony, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sebastian sighed in disappointment in the background. "You've really gone and done it now, Theowen..."

"What are we going to do now, boss!? The Ministry's on its way! We've got to move!" one of Sebastian's lackeys behind her exclaimed in panic. "If the Dementors catch wind of this, it'll escalate!"

"Relax, we'll be long gone before then. I'm almost finished with what I came here to do," Sebastian explained, casting a menacing glance at them. "And if any of you think of running, I'll deal with you myself."

The three of them gulped in fear. Theowen wondered what Sebastian had done in Azkaban to inspire such dread among the other Dark Practitioners. The pain from Crucio slowly subsided, but she still shivered from its aftereffects. She noted that his Crucio had been far stronger and more intense than the one cast on her nine years ago.

"Sebastian, whatever it is you intend to do, please stop. It's not too late," Ominis pleaded, as Sebastian instructed his men to move Theowen to another seat beside him.

Sebastian scoffed at Ominis's plea. "Not too late? It's nine years too late, Ominis," he spat out bitterly. "With dear Anne's passing, that marked the beginning of her demise."

Theowen huffed, her breath ragged and vision blurred. She saw Ominis's bewildered expression. "What? What does Anne's death have to do with her, Sebastian?"

"Everything!" Sebastian snapped, slamming his fist onto the table and causing a slight crack in the wood. He pointed accusingly at her. "You were gifted with the powers of ancient magic, and what did you do? Nothing! Anne suffered until her dying day because of you!"

"I-I was bound by oath with the Keepers never to replicate or attempt Isadora's magic, Sebastian. You know this," Theowen reminded him, her breaths still laboured.

"You and I both saw in the Pensieve that you had the power all along to lift that curse, but you didn't!" Sebastian continued angrily. "All because some ghosts told you not to!"

Theowen glanced anxiously at Ominis. He had never been involved in her adventures with ancient magic or the restoration of the Tryptich during their Hogwarts days. She mentally chastised herself, wishing she had involved him from the start. "That kind of magic is still uncharted territory! If I had attempted to help Anne, the consequences could have been far worse."

"Rubbish!" Sebastian huffed in disbelief, his expression morphing into one of mourning. "Even if that were true, I was close. Close to curing Anne. I just needed more time to find a stronger curse or spell to counter hers. But why? Why did you turn me in? You knew my uncle had given up on a cure and never intended to help," his voice trembled with despair as he turned to face Theowen.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian. I-I was scared and overwhelmed with everything that had happened. If I could go back, I would have stopped you earlier," Theowen pleaded, her guilt palpable in every word.

"You needed to be stopped, Sebastian. I warned you countless times that dark magic would never provide a cure, only more despair," Ominis explained sternly.

"I was close! So close to finding a cure for her! I treated you like a brother!" Sebastian shouted at Ominis in anguish. "But what did you do? Just because she said so, you didn't even bat an eye and sent me to that hell."

Ominis ground his teeth, his expression hardened. "You killed a man, Sebastian. Your uncle, no less. Anne couldn't bring herself to punish you, so we had to do it."

Sebastian chuckled darkly, the sound sending chills down Theowen's spine. "And? What became of Anne? She died alone, in constant pain. If I had been there beside her, at least I could have—"

"I was with Anne until her last breath, Sebastian," Ominis interrupted firmly. "I informed you of what happened. She was never alone, and you were never close to finding a cure. You know that."

Sebastian's laughter echoed through the room, a hollow, maniacal sound that seemed to bounce off the walls. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, looking almost deranged. The tension in the air was palpable, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on his face.

"Oh, Merlin, what's the point in talking to the two of you," Sebastian muttered, rising from his chair and crossing the dimly lit room towards Theowen. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. He gently caressed her cheek, his touch unsettlingly tender, and gave her a sad smile. "If only you had stopped me earlier... I could've..." His voice trailed off, regret and sorrow clouding his dark eyes.

Sebastian turned to Ominis, his expression pleading. "I've lost someone dear to me, brother."

Ominis's heart sank, realizing the gravity of Sebastian's intent. He struggled against the dark wizard, his hand fumbling along the worn oak dining table, using it to guide himself through the shadowy room. His blindness was a constant challenge, but in this moment, his focus was singular: to protect her.

Theowen's breathing slowed, her heart pounding in her chest. Time seemed to stretch, each second heavy with impending doom. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed at Ominis, sharing a fleeting, sorrowful smile amidst the dimly lit room. She turned her gaze to Sebastian, meeting his hollow, soulless stare. Azkaban had stripped away everything that remained of the man she once knew.

Sebastian's voice, steady and devoid of emotion, pierced the heavy silence. "Avada Kedavra..."

The green light flashed, and a chilling silence descended, enveloping the room like the embrace of death itself.