Fragments of Time

Days turned to weeks, and weeks bled into months, yet no word surfaced of what had been discussed behind those closed doors.

Ominis grew restless.

Since the deliberations, his father had departed, but something about the Headmaster had changed. There was a weight to his expression, something sunken and troubled, like a man caught between fury and defeat. Ominis had sensed it immediately—and he had also noticed how the Headmaster now avoided him entirely, as though he were stricken with some incurable plague.

Not that Ominis cared for the man’s sudden distaste.

What did concern him, however, was the matter of Theowen.

He knew she remained within the castle walls—Aurors still stood guard at the same location day and night. That much was certain. What troubled him was why. What had been decided? What had become of her?

The days blurred into routine. Slowly, Hogwarts stitched itself back together. Lessons resumed, students busied themselves with gossip and homework, and the school settled into something resembling normalcy—save for one glaring difference.

Ominis Gaunt was now revered like a god.

It made his skin crawl.

Fortunately, with Sebastian’s help, he had managed to avoid most of the unwanted attention. His friend had always had a knack for misdirection, effortlessly steering conversations away whenever people approached with eager curiosity.

But despite their best efforts, whispers of the elusive fifth-year—the _real_ hero of Hogwarts—had begun to rise once more.

And as the Great Hall filled with students for lunch one crisp afternoon, those whispers reached a fever pitch.

The murmurs in the Great Hall faded to silence as Headmaster Black approached the stand. Clearing his throat, he began,

"Dear students of Hogwarts, I know these past few weeks have been… eventful. I am pleased to announce that the fifth-year in question has been expelled—"

A wave of gasps rippled through the hall, followed by a chorus of hushed whispers.

Ominis’s heart sank.

The news was delivered so callously, as though it were a mere administrative update rather than a life-altering decree.

Before the Headmaster could continue, Professor Weasley stepped forward, her expression tight with barely concealed frustration.

"Please, students, settle down."

Her voice carried across the hall with the kind of authority that commanded immediate respect. Within moments, the noise died down. In stark contrast to Black, Professor Weasley offered the students a warm, reassuring smile before addressing them again.

"First of all, let us take a moment to appreciate the extraordinary effort you have all made in restoring our beloved school. Thanks to your dedication and teamwork, Hogwarts stands strong, and we have been able to return to normalcy much sooner than expected. Give yourselves a well-earned round of applause."

She began to clap, and soon, the students followed. Laughter and cheers rippled through the hall as housemates congratulated one another.

Once the applause subsided, her expression turned more solemn.

"Now, as the Headmaster stated, a difficult decision has been made. The fifth-year student will be expelled from Hogwarts, a decision that ensures she will not face formal charges or cause further disruption. I understand that this may come as sad news to some, but we must look forward, not backward."

The tension in the air was thick, but before anyone could react, Professor Weasley continued, her voice lifting with genuine warmth.

"However, today is not solely about farewells. I have the pleasure of sharing something joyous with you all—please, welcome back your classmate, who has made a remarkable recovery… Anne Sallow."

All heads turned as the great doors groaned open.

Anne stepped inside, her face alight with a smile.

The hall erupted into applause, and just like that, the news of the expelled student was swiftly overshadowed.

Gone was the frail, sickly girl who had once been weighed down by an unbreakable curse. In her place stood someone new—vibrant, full of life.

Ominis could hear the excitement in the cheers, but he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate.

His thoughts remained elsewhere.

On her.

Just then, Ominis felt a light tap on his shoulder.

His wand sensed the familiar figure before he did.

Professor Fig.

Ominis frowned in confusion, and he wasn’t the only one—beside him, Sebastian, who had been cheering only moments ago for his sister’s return, now wore a similarly puzzled expression.

Professor Fig, however, simply smiled.

"Mr. Gaunt, if you would be so kind as to follow me."

Ominis felt his chest tighten.

He had a feeling he knew what this was about.

He nodded promptly. "Of course, Professor."

As he pushed his chair back, preparing to leave, Sebastian reached out, his brows knit together in concern.

"Ominis, should I come with you?"

Ominis turned back toward his friend. The echoes of the Great Hall still rang with laughter and cheers, all for Anne—the moment Sebastian had dreamed of for so long.

He managed a reassuring smile and shook his head.

"I’ll be back soon. Say hello to Anne for me."

Sebastian hesitated, clearly torn, but Ominis didn’t wait for his reply.

Instead, he turned and followed Professor Fig out of the hall, his heartbeat quickening with every step.

Quick, nonchalant words passed between Ominis and Professor Fig as they made their way toward the Wooden Bridge. Though the sky was clear, a dense fog clung to the air—winter creeping into the already cold highlands.

The wooden planks groaned beneath their steps, each creak echoing through the mist.

As they neared the end of the bridge, the fog thinned, revealing a lone, hooded figure waiting for them.

Ominis didn’t need to see her to know who it was.

The familiar presence struck him immediately—Theowen.

Every fibre of his being screamed at him to run to her, to demand answers, to ask if she was alright. But he forced himself to stay composed, matching Professor Fig’s measured pace.

She was no longer in chains. That much, at least, was a relief.

But she wasn’t alone.

Two figures flanked her—Professors Sharp and Hecat.

Escorts.

Ominis’ stomach twisted.

Where were they taking her?

Still, no answers. Only more questions.

And a growing sense of unease.

"Go on," Professor Fig urged gently. "We'll give you two some privacy."

Ominis stiffened. His brow furrowed. "Professor, what—?" But before he could demand an explanation, Fig and the others had already turned away, walking further down the path, though still within sight.

A sense of unease coiled in his chest. He turned towards Theowen, head tilting slightly as if trying to discern something unseen. 

She stepped closer, the space between them shrinking, yet something about her felt impossibly distant. "I just..." Her voice wavered before she steadied it. "I wanted to say goodbye."

His fingers curled slightly around his wand, a flicker of something cold creeping into his veins. "Goodbye?" he echoed, his tone carefully measured. "I don’t understand."

She forced a chuckle, though he heard the strain beneath it. "Oh, come now, Ominis. What else did you think was going to happen? This is the best outcome for me."

Something felt wrong.

His magic had always been attuned to hers—he could sense it, the way it pulsed and shifted like a living thing. But now… it was dull. Suppressed. Contained. His instincts took hold, and without thinking, his hand reached for hers. The moment his fingers closed around hers, he inhaled sharply.

Her hand was freezing.

His grip tightened. "Theowen… there’s something wrong. Your magic—"

"It’s sealed."

The words struck him harder than any hex.

His breath caught. "W-what do you mean it’s sealed?" he demanded, his voice sharper now, tinged with something dangerously close to panic.

She exhaled, slow and deliberate. "It was part of the deal," she admitted at last. "So I wouldn’t end up in Azkaban."

Azkaban. The weight of the word was suffocating.

"I can still perform basic spells," she continued, her tone falsely light, "but the Keepers—and them—thought it best to seal my Ancient Magic until they could study it further." She hesitated, then, barely above a whisper—"Which is where I’m going."

His entire body went rigid. "You're _letting_ them experiment on you?" His voice was tightly controlled, but there was something fraying beneath it. "Why? Why didn’t you wait for me? I could have done something—I could have spoken to my father—"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "No. I don’t want you entangling yourself with your family any more than necessary." Her voice softened, though it only made the words sting more. "Besides… my work here is done. I came to save you. And I did. With Anne’s curse lifted, Sebastian will have no reason to turn to Dark Magic."

He swallowed hard, his grip on his wand tightening.

"So that’s it, then?" His voice was quieter now, but no less wounded. "You came, you altered everything, and now you’re leaving?" A pause. "Was I just another part of the past you needed to fix?"

Her breath hitched. "No!" she burst out, stepping closer. "That was never my intention! I only meant—"

"Then you should have never sought me out in the first place," he said, and though his tone was calm, the weight of his words was crushing. "_You shouldn’t have let me care for you._"

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then, a tug at his sleeve.

Her voice, so small now, so unlike the Theowen he knew—"I... I'm sorry... Please don’t leave me..."

He inhaled sharply.

And just like that, all his anger, all his restraint, shattered.

He pulled her to him, arms tightening around her as though sheer force alone could stop time itself. She clung to him, her body trembling, her quiet sobs muffled against his shoulder.

His jaw clenched, his breath uneven as he finally allowed his own tears to slip past his resolve. "I could never leave you," he murmured at last, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Not even if I tried."

And for the first time, Theowen allowed herself to be selfish.

To hold on, even if she knew she would have to let go.

He pulled away just slightly, enough to cup her face with both hands. His fingers traced along her tear-streaked cheeks, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath them. A contrast to the ice-cold touch he had felt before.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in.

Their lips met—soft, urgent, and desperate all at once. His heartbeat roared in his ears, wild and unrestrained, yet he could feel hers matching his pace, their pulses thrumming in unison. It was as if, for just that moment, the world around them ceased to exist. There was only her.

As he pulled back, his hands still cradling her face, he sensed the slight tremble in her breath, the way she seemed frozen in place. He could feel the warmth radiating from her now, her skin no longer cold, but burning with life.

"Wait for me," he commanded, his voice steady, filled with a fire he hadn't felt before. "No matter what, I will bring you back. I swear it."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, as though she scarcely believed what she had just heard.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, he felt it—a small, delicate shake of her shoulders. A soft exhale. And then, warmth—her arms wrapping around him, holding on tightly.

"I will always wait for you," she whispered against him, her voice thick with emotion.

And in that moment, neither of them let go.

"Apologies for the interruption," a voice called out, shattering the fragile moment between them.

Theowen and Ominis startled, both turning toward the source. Standing a few steps away, his expression unreadable, was none other than Professor Sharp.

"We need to get going," he said, his tone firm yet not unkind. "The Ministry is expecting us."

Theowen exhaled, steadying herself. "Right."

She turned back to Ominis, giving his hand one final squeeze before stepping away, putting more distance between them with each measured step.

Ominis stood rooted to the spot, his grip clenching and unclenching at his sides. He could do nothing but listen as her presence faded further and further from his reach. The silence she left in her wake was deafening.

Then, a reassuring weight settled on his shoulder.

"Do not worry, Mr. Gaunt," came Professor Fig’s voice, gentle yet knowing. "She can take care of herself. And Professor Sharp will be with her—he will ensure she is not mistreated."

Ominis stiffened at that, tilting his head slightly toward Fig. "Professor Sharp?" He turned the name over in his mind, and then, understanding dawned.

He said nothing further, but his jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists.

As Professor Fig remained beside him, watching the small departing figures in the distance, Ominis made a silent vow—to himself, to her.

He would grow stronger. No matter what it took, no matter what price he had to pay, he _would_ get her out of this.

Even if he had to make a deal with the devil himself.