Fragments of Time

Ominis clenched his fists as Theowen vanished beneath the rubble, her hurried footsteps echoing faintly into the depths. Helplessness burned through him like a fire as he turned toward the direction she’d disappeared. She’d done it again—thrown herself headfirst into danger, leaving him behind with no way to help. His wand trembled slightly in his grip as the vibrations of the crumbling stone and surging magic painted a chaotic image of his surroundings—the Keepers’ silence, the relentless tremors, and the oppressive weight pressing down on the castle itself.

Without hesitation, he spun toward the staircase to follow her, but a voice stopped him cold.

“Mr. Gaunt!”

Headmaster Black’s sharp, disdainful tone cut through the chaos like a blade. “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing? Surely you’re not foolish enough to chase after that Muggle-born girl?”

Ominis froze, his teeth clenching as anger rose like bile in his throat. Even now, as the very walls of the castle groaned and trembled under attack, Black clung to his ignorant prejudices. 

“You are a Gaunt!” Black continued, his voice heavy with scorn. “Your duty is to Hogwarts and your bloodline—not to her.” 

Ominis turned slowly toward the headmaster, his knuckles whitening around his wand. His voice, though quiet, was venomous. “And what would you have me do, Headmaster? Stand by while the people I care for put themselves in harm’s way? Perhaps blood purity will shield us from Ranrok’s army?”

Black bristled, sputtering indignantly. “Watch your tone, boy! You—”

“Enough, Headmaster.”

Professor Weasley’s firm, steady voice cut through the tension, silencing him. She stepped forward, her sharp gaze fixed on Black. “This is not the time for bickering. The castle is under siege, and Mr. Gaunt’s concern is justified. Ms. Thorne has put herself in grave danger for our sakes. We need to act—not divide ourselves.” 

She turned to the professors and Aurors already gathering. “Secure the students. Move them to safety. The rest of you, we’re going after Ms. Thorne.”

Professor Weasley placed a hand on Ominis’s shoulder, her voice soft but resolute. “Go. She needs you. And be careful.”

Ominis gave a sharp nod, already moving before Black could offer another protest.

He descended quickly, the suffocating weight of corrupted magic pressing in on him like a thick fog. The further he went, the worse it became, the air twisting and foul as though the castle itself recoiled from the force tearing through its foundations. His wand pulsed faintly, lighting the path ahead, showing him the destruction left in Theowen’s wake.

The grand chamber doors were reduced to jagged splinters. Splintered stone sentinels lay in crumbled heaps, and cracks lined the walls, radiating out like fractures in glass. Every step carried him deeper into the epicenter of this chaotic energy—a raw, ancient power he could feel vibrating underfoot.

He pressed on, his chest tight with dread. The stillness around him wasn’t peaceful—it was the silence that followed violence, thick and suffocating.

“Theowen!” he called, his voice sharp and echoing off the stone walls.

Ahead, he sensed her—her movement swift and deliberate. A burst of magic snapped the air, and he knew she was shielding herself from another attack.

“Don’t follow me, Ominis!” she shouted, her voice fractured with desperation and something else he couldn’t place—fear, perhaps, or resolve. “This isn’t your fight!”

“Like bloody hell it isn’t!” he muttered under his breath, pushing forward.

The ground shook violently beneath him, and Ominis stumbled as chunks of debris rained down. He moved with precision, weaving through falling rubble, disintegrating it with quick, sharp flicks of his wand. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he pressed on, refusing to let her face this alone.

The sounds of combat grew louder. The earth quaked with stomping trolls, the shrieks of goblins, and the unmistakable crackle of Ancient Magic erupting like thunder. Ominis’s heart clenched as he realized the truth—this wasn’t a battle. It was devastation.

“Theowen!” he called again, more urgently this time.

He sensed her hesitation—just for a moment—as his voice cut through the chaos. But she didn’t stop.

The tremors grew stronger, the earth trembling beneath him with such force that dust choked the air. He could hear cries from further behind—professors and Aurors engaging the remnants of Ranrok’s forces, but their battle felt distant now.

Ominis pressed on, following the raw vibrations of magic that pulsed ahead of him.

Finally, he reached the Repository chamber, and the air grew still.

The overwhelming energy hit him like a wall. The Repository at the cavern’s center pulsed, its immense magic reverberating through the stone, vibrating beneath his feet. The sheer magnitude of it stole his breath, as though he stood in the presence of something not meant for mortal hands.

Ominis paused, his breath ragged as he steadied himself. His wand trembled in his hand, his senses attuned to the two presences near the Repository’s orb. One was unmistakable—Theowen, her magic burning bright and familiar. The other… twisted, corrupt, and all too recognizable. Ranrok.

Slowly, cautiously, Ominis moved closer, his grip on his wand tightening. The voices rang clear across the cavern, sharp and commanding, locked in a confrontation brimming with danger.

“This power is not yours to take, Ranrok. I’m giving you a chance to walk away,” Theowen’s voice cut through the oppressive air, unwavering and fierce.

Ranrok’s response was a cruel, guttural laugh that reverberated off the jagged cavern walls, sending a shiver down Ominis’s spine. “The arrogance of wizardkind. Goblins built this repository—it belongs to us!”

“Your arrogance has cost countless lives,” Theowen shot back, her voice rising with anger. “Even your own brother!”

At her words, crimson tendrils of magic flickered around her, surging like embers caught in a storm.

Ranrok sneered, the disdain dripping from his words. “Lodgok? A traitor and a disappointment, to the very end.”

The tension snapped. Ranrok’s eyes blazed with fury as he turned his wand toward the orb, his movements sharp and deliberate. Without warning, he unleashed a torrent of magic.

A blinding surge erupted from the Repository, raw energy exploding outward with violent force. The cavern trembled violently, the ground splintering beneath Ominis’s feet. He staggered back, raising his arm to shield his face as the scorching power lashed out like serpents in all directions. The walls groaned, debris raining down in a cascade of dust and stone.

From the heart of the chaos, a monstrous sound rose—a triumphant, echoing laugh that sent dread curling in Ominis’s chest. Ranrok’s form began to distort, twisting grotesquely as the dark energy enveloped him. Theowen froze, her eyes widening in horror as the truth dawned.

History was repeating itself.

“No!” she cried, her voice a mix of fury and despair.

Ranrok’s body continued to shift, expanding into something monstrous and unnatural. Scales, jagged as molten rock, rippled across his skin. Massive wings burst forth with a sickening crack, unfurling into the cavern with an ear-splitting screech. When he roared, the sound shook the very earth, rocks crumbling from the cavern ceiling as oppressive heat flooded the air.

Ominis’s knees buckled as the sheer force of Ranrok’s presence hit him. Though blind, he could feel it—the immense, unfathomable size, the pure malice radiating like a furnace, suffocating and unstoppable. His wand trembled in his grip.

“Theowen!” he shouted, desperation straining his voice.

But Theowen didn’t hear him. Her gaze was locked on the monstrosity before her, fury blazing in her eyes. The crimson tendrils of Ancient Magic around her surged violently, coiling like living flame as the ground beneath her split and glowed with the same ominous light.

Ranrok roared, lunging forward. Theowen didn’t flinch. Her anger erupted into something primal, something overwhelming. With a cry that echoed through the cavern, she let the Ancient Magic consume her.

Ominis staggered as the energy intensified, his pulse quickening in tandem with its crackling hum. Theowen’s form began to shift, her silhouette elongating, her limbs transforming. Wings tore through the air with a thunderous whoosh. Crimson scales gleamed like molten fire, covering her form as it grew larger, more fearsome.

When the transformation stilled, Theowen stood—no longer herself but a colossal dragon, her presence equal in might to Ranrok’s. Her scales shimmered in a mix of silver and gold, her eyes blazing like twin suns, unyielding and furious.

She roared, the sound deafening and unrelenting. For one brief moment, the cavern fell silent, as though even the earth itself held its breath.

Ominis stood frozen, his mind reeling, his chest heaving. He could scarcely comprehend the scene unfolding before him. The oppressive magic pressed down on him, but amid the terror, Theowen’s presence burned brighter, offering a flicker of hope.

Then, with a thunderous crash, the two dragons collided.

The roar of battle filled the cavern, the ground quaking under the titanic clash of dragons. Ranrok lunged, jaws snapping, as he spewed molten fire across the cavern. Theowen’s massive wings carried her swiftly through the air, her form weaving with graceful precision. The fiery torrent missed her by inches, instead colliding with the stone cliffs, which exploded into a cascade of fire and debris.

The scorching heat radiated outward, and Ominis felt it rush toward him like a wave. His wand vibrated wildly, warning him of the incoming flames. Panic flared in his chest as he turned to flee, his steps uneven across the crumbling ground. But it was too late.

The fire roared toward him, its heat searing the air. Ominis threw himself sideways, instinct taking over, but the ground vanished beneath him. He fell, a startled cry escaping his lips as the abyss swallowed him whole.

Time stretched, the rush of air deafening in his ears. He braced for the crushing impact—

But it never came.

A gust of wind slammed into him, and he felt something immense and solid clamp around his body, halting his fall. The vibrations from its surface hummed with unmistakable power, the magic pulsing in waves through his senses.

It hit him then—he was in the grip of a dragon.

“Theowen,” he choked out, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind and chaos. “Listen to me! This cavern—it can’t withstand this! You’ll bring the whole place down!”

The cavern trembled violently as if to confirm his words. Massive cracks splintered across the ceiling, chunks of stone tumbling into the depths below. The suffocating heat and thunderous roars made it impossible to think.

“Please!” Ominis pleaded, his grip tightening on the ridges of her scales. “If you don’t stop, everything will collapse!”

Theowen’s glowing gaze darted upward, taking in the cavern ceiling as the tremors worsened. A rumble escaped her chest—a sound filled with fury, but also resolve. With a powerful beat of her wings, she surged forward, driving herself straight into Ranrok.

The impact was cataclysmic, a shockwave blasting outward as both dragons collided and rose. The cavern ceiling shattered in an explosion of stone and dust, sending debris raining down as they burst into the open night.

The rush of cold air was jarring after the stifling heat. Ominis gasped, the chaos momentarily disorienting him. Clinging tightly to Theowen’s back, he felt the vastness of the open sky around them—the distant hum of Hogwarts far below, the chill biting at his skin.

But there was no time to breathe.

Ranrok, his rage unchecked, came barrelling through the clouds, his claws outstretched. Ominis sensed the monstrous shape as it loomed closer, the sheer force of its presence like an avalanche of malice.

The strike hit hard. Talons locked around Theowen’s neck, a sickening crunch resonating through her body. She roared in pain, the sound vibrating into Ominis’s bones.

Fury spiked in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he raised his wand, the air around him trembling with the proximity of Ranrok’s presence. “Incendio!”

The flames struck true, searing into Ranrok’s eye. The dragon screeched in fury, his claws loosening just enough for Theowen to twist free.

But the momentum sent them plummeting. Ominis’s stomach lurched as Theowen fought to steady herself, wings flapping wildly. The castle loomed below—massive, dark, and too close.

The impact was unavoidable.

Theowen crashed into the stone bridge with earth-shattering force, the arches crumbling beneath her weight. She tumbled into the inner gardens, landing hard, but even in her descent, she shielded Ominis, twisting her body instinctively to protect him.

The ground hit like a hammer. Dust and debris exploded into the air, the sharp crack of stone breaking echoing through the night.

Ominis’s breath hitched as he slid to solid ground, his body aching from the crash. His hands fumbled against the rough, scorched earth until he found his footing.

“Theowen?” he gasped, stumbling toward her.

She lay still, her colossal form heaving with shallow, laboured breaths. The previously unmarred scales were streaked with blood, and a jagged wound glowed faintly on her side.

Ominis didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up to the wound, pressing his wand against the injury. “Vulnera Sanentur,” he muttered, the words steady despite his trembling hands.

The magic hummed through his wand, gentle but firm, as it began to knit her scales back together. Theowen shuddered beneath him but didn’t resist.

A thunderous roar split the air.

Ominis froze, his breath catching sharply as he turned his head upward. The shift in the atmosphere was undeniable—air currents twisted unnaturally, the pressure growing oppressive, suffocating. The rush of massive wings swept over him like a rolling tide, and the blistering heat that followed was unmistakable.

Ranrok was upon them again.

“Theowen!”

Before Ominis could brace himself, Theowen reacted. A low, guttural snarl escaped her throat, the sound vibrating through the earth. Power surged from her core, and in an instant, a shimmering dome of energy erupted into existence—a shield of pure, ancient magic that arced protectively over them both.

The inferno struck with a deafening whoosh, flames colliding violently with the barrier. The garden blazed with an orange glow as searing fire cascaded over the shield like a molten wave, scorching the earth and turning stone to glass. Sweat beaded on Ominis’s brow as he ducked instinctively, though the shield held strong, unyielding against Ranrok’s fury.

Finally, the flames sputtered and died, leaving behind trails of melted rubble and scorched debris. Ominis panted, turning toward Theowen’s colossal form. “We need to take the fight far from Hogwarts!”

A deep, resonant growl rumbled from her chest—a wordless agreement.

An idea struck Ominis then, so sudden and clear it startled him. His fingers tightened around his wand as he leaned forward, calling out to her. “Theowen, I have a plan!”

Her massive head tilted slightly in acknowledgment, and he didn’t wait for her response. “Head toward the main battle—draw him out!”

Without hesitation, Theowen’s wings unfurled with a powerful sweep, and they surged upward. The force of her ascent sent debris scattering below, the wind deafening as the ground fell away beneath them. Ominis gripped her scales tightly, his body tensed as they climbed higher, piercing through smoke and embers that choked the air.

What he sensed below turned his stomach.

Hogwarts’s grounds were chaos incarnate. Goblins and dark practitioners swarmed like insects, their combined forces battering the castle walls. Trolls swung massive clubs into fortifications while curses streaked through the gloom—green and red, bright flashes of destruction. Yet the defenders held the line: professors, prefects, and brave students casting tirelessly, their cries of defiance cutting through the battle’s din.

Theowen understood the plan as if it were her own. She dove sharply, a streak of crimson energy trailing behind her like a comet. At the heart of Ranrok’s forces, she released a devastating arc of magic, the blast erupting in an explosion that sent goblins scattering and trolls reeling.

Ominis felt it—a shift in the air as Ranrok’s monstrous focus snapped toward them. The guttural snarl that followed was seismic, vibrating through Ominis’s bones.

“There!” Ominis shouted, his voice barely audible above the wind. “You’ve got his attention!”

Ranrok roared, his twisted form blotting out the dim light of the battlefield as he barrelled toward them. He was an unstoppable force of fury, his maw igniting with streams of fire. Flames surged toward Theowen, cutting through the sky like a molten lance.

But Theowen was faster.

She banked sharply, wings slicing through the air as she dove and twisted, evading the flames with breath-taking precision. The fire crashed instead into Ranrok’s own forces, incinerating goblins and dark practitioners who hadn’t a chance to flee. Their screams echoed through the night, cut short by their leader’s unrelenting wrath.

Ranrok didn’t care. His rage was singular, his focus locked on Theowen.

The chase became a deadly dance above the battlefield. Theowen flew low, weaving through spires and collapsing fortifications, her movements impossibly agile for her size. Ranrok gave chase, his claws tearing through structures, his flames leaving paths of molten ruin in their wake. Each miss sent destruction cascading into his own forces—armored trolls flung aside like dolls, goblins crushed beneath falling rubble.

Ominis clung tightly, his knuckles white as Theowen’s body twisted and dove with violent precision. He could sense the chaos unravelling below—spells colliding, shouts of retreat and panic rising. The battlefield was fracturing under Ranrok’s reckless assault.

“Keep baiting him!” Ominis urged hoarsely, his voice carried on the howling wind.

Ranrok’s roars grew more erratic, his fire wilder, his strikes less controlled. Fury consumed him, and the destruction spiraled further. Hogwarts’s defenders turned the chaos to their advantage, pressing forward as Ranrok’s army fell into disarray.

Theowen roared defiantly, looping back to challenge him head-on, baiting him higher, further away from the castle.

Ominis could feel it—a volatile pressure building within Ranrok, the corrupted magic seething beneath his scaled exterior like an overfilled vessel ready to shatter. It distorted the very air, thick and suffocating, warping reality itself.

Theowen sensed it too.

With grim purpose, she climbed. Her wings drove them higher and higher, each beat a thunderclap as they ascended into the blackened sky. The air grew colder, thinner. Below, the battlefield became a blur of smoke and flame, distant and insignificant.

Dark clouds churned above them, summoned by her will—a vortex of fury and raw power. Lightning split the heavens, each strike carving jagged scars of brilliance into the night. The storm spiralled into a raging tempest, winds howling like anguished spirits.

Ranrok pursued relentlessly, blinded by fury, oblivious to the trap closing around him.

The moment Theowen stopped, Ominis knew they had reached the apex. The winds screamed, the storm shrieking like a living thing. Ranrok faltered for the first time, the realization striking him too late. He was caught, his massive form thrashing in the vortex.

Ominis braced himself against her back, his pulse hammering as he felt her magic surge. It crackled through her like wildfire, a pulsing force that began to gather at her core.

The glow started low, deep in her chest, building to a brilliant, unbearable crescendo. Crimson energy spilled from her maw, illuminating the storm clouds as it swelled, a cataclysm waiting to be unleashed.

Ominis climbed to his knees, balancing against the wind, his wand trembling in his hand. “Now!” he roared, his voice drowned by the storm.

Theowen released her fury.

A blinding beam of energy erupted from her, so powerful it fractured the sky, warping the air and distorting reality. The roar of its release was deafening.

At the same moment, Ominis thrust his wand forward, his own magic pouring out—a focused, piercing spell aimed directly at Ranrok’s twisted heart.

The combined assault struck true.

Ranrok’s scream echoed like a death knell, a hideous, guttural cry that seemed to shake the heavens. The beam swallowed him whole, his form contorting as the corrupted magic within him fractured and imploded. His massive body spiralled downward, flames and debris trailing behind him as he plummeted like a broken star.

The impact shook the earth. The battlefield fell into a stunned, hollow silence.

Ominis slumped forward against Theowen’s scales, his chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. “It’s over…” he murmured, though the words felt hollow, as though spoken in disbelief.

The storm that had torn the skies apart began to ease. The winds, once howling with fury, softened to a ghostly whisper. Dark clouds unraveled, dissolving into streaks of rain that fell in steady, cleansing sheets. The fires were extinguished. The earth, scarred and cratered, soaked beneath the relentless downpour.

With a graceful sweep of her wings, Theowen descended, cutting through the mist like a shadow. Her talons met the ground with muted thuds, the sound swallowed by the rain-soaked silence. At the heart of the crater lay Ranrok—small, broken, charred. No longer a dragon. Merely a defeated goblin.

Theowen bent low, her massive form hunching carefully toward the earth. Ominis tightened his hold as her muscles shifted beneath him, creating a steady platform for him to dismount.

When his shoes touched the sodden ground, his knees buckled. His hands plunged into the mud, supporting his weight as he gasped for breath. Every limb ached, heavy and hollow from the battle. His magic was drained—stripped down to an empty core that throbbed with fatigue. Even standing felt like defying gravity.

To his left, the sharp crackle of magic pierced the rain-soaked stillness, and Ominis tensed. Footsteps followed—a soft, deliberate approach. He didn’t need sight to know her presence had changed. No longer a colossal, unstoppable force, Theowen’s magic resonated as something familiar but heavier now, more potent.

Theowen didn’t respond. She strode forward, her steps deliberate, her breathing steady despite the weight of everything that had passed.

Ominis turned toward her, toward the broken form in the crater’s centre. He heard Ranrok stir, the goblin’s breaths shallow, ragged, yet filled with venom.

“Come here to gloat?” Ranrok croaked, his voice brittle as though the words themselves would shatter.

Theowen’s voice, in contrast, was cold and resolute—a blade tempered in fire. “Just to take what was never yours.”

Before Ranrok could retort, a sharp scream tore from him—raw and unnatural. Ominis flinched, his senses flaring violently as tendrils of crimson darkness slithered from Ranrok’s body. The tendrils writhed like living shadows, undeterred by the rain that splattered the muddy ground.

Ominis’s pulse quickened as he sensed the dark energy curl around her, coiling like serpents before sinking into her being. Theowen’s eyes glowed—crimson, searing, unnatural. She stood unmoving, her form unyielding as the corrupted power wrapped itself around her like a shroud.

Ranrok’s screams grew weaker, warping into hollow echoes until silence fell once more.

The rain was the only sound left, its soft patter falling steadily over the lifeless crater. Ominis remained frozen, every instinct screaming at him that something had shifted—something irreversible.

“Theowen…” he murmured, stepping forward cautiously. He extended a hand toward her, his own magic prickling in warning. Her power, once familiar and warm, now hummed with something other. Something untouchable.

Before he could reach her, movement exploded around him—boots crunching through mud, voices rising in alarm.

Wands were drawn.

Ominis’s heart skipped, his grip on his wand tightening instinctively. Relief briefly flickered through him as he registered the denizens of Hogwarts—professors, prefects, and Aurors—arriving at the scene. But the relief was short-lived. The silence that followed was wrong.

They were staring. He didn’t need to see it; he could feel it. The weight of dozens of eyes on her, frozen in collective unease.

Theowen stood motionless beneath the rain, her clothes soaked and streaked with blood, her power lingering in the air like the aftershock of a quake. They had seen it all—her transformation, her battle, the way the ancient magic had answered her. They had witnessed her absorb a life.

Ominis’s pulse pounded in his ears, panic coiling in his chest as he sensed their fear. It clung to the air like fog, thick and suffocating.

Theowen moved then. Her boots splashed softly through the mud as she approached him, her footsteps quiet against the unnatural stillness. Before he could form words, her hand rested gently on his shoulder—a silent reassurance.

“What are you—” Ominis began, his voice hoarse and unsteady. But she was already moving past him.

He stiffened, turning toward the sound of her boots cutting through the crowd. The gathered Aurors hesitated, their breath hitched, their wands wavering as Theowen approached. Ominis heard someone step back, boots scraping wet earth in reflexive fear. But Theowen stopped.

Without a word, she extended her arm—her wand held loosely in her hand. A hushed stillness fell over the crowd. Even the rain seemed to hush in reverence as she surrendered it.

Ominis’s stomach twisted. “Theowen, don’t—”

“Everyone, give it up for the hero of Hogwarts!”

The booming voice shattered the tension like glass. Ominis turned sharply, dread blooming as he recognized the tone— Headmaster Black.

The man strode forward with calculated pomp, his voice echoing above the crowd’s uncertainty. He stopped between Theowen and the onlookers, spreading his arms wide as though presenting him like a prize.

For a heartbeat, Ominis felt frozen. Hero?

The crowd hesitated—silent, unsure—but then a smattering of applause broke the stillness. It started hesitantly, uncertain claps echoing in the mist. A voice called out Ominis's name, then another, until the trickle of cheers swelled into a wave. Applause rang through the crater, jarring and discordant against the backdrop of mud and ruin.

Ominis’s brow furrowed, confusion churning in his exhausted mind. Through the rising noise, he heard quiet movement. The Aurors were closing in around Theowen, their wands lowered but hands firm. Ominis knew immediately what was happening—she was being taken. For questioning, for containment, for something worse.

“Theowen!” Ominis called, pushing forward through the gathering crowd.

His voice was drowned beneath the cheers. He tried to sense her, to feel her magic or her presence, but all he could grasp was the distance growing between them. She was being led away, surrounded by Aurors and professors.

He strained to follow, stumbling over uneven ground, but his legs wavered beneath him. The exhaustion—the ache of spent magic and battered limbs—finally took its toll.

The world tilted violently.

Darkness swept over him as he crumpled to his knees. The last thing he heard was the distorted roar of cheers, now nothing more than a hollow, distant echo.