Chapter 14. February 7, 1891

Ominis tried to move on. The days dragged on unbearably long, painfully stretching and never ending, like a piece of chewing gum that lost its flavor. The nights were even harder, as during the day he could at least occupy himself with studying and other distractions. Although Ominis diligently attempted to complete assignments and attend all classes, and the professors even started praising him periodically, he had never found acquiring new knowledge so uninteresting. Rumors spread throughout Hogwarts about a fifth-year Slytherin student who used an unforgivable spell and was expelled from the school as a result. Connecting the gossip with Sebastian's sudden disappearance wasn't a difficult task for most of their peers, so Ominis was bombarded daily with endless questions about it. In the initial days, these questions weighed heavily on his heart, his insides twisted into a tight knot, and he felt like collapsing to the floor and howling from the pain. However, he only shook his head in a restrained manner and shrugged, responding to the lingering questions, before practically sprinting to the crypt to give himself a chance to catch his breath away from the persistent classmates. With each passing day, the number of questions dwindled, and interest in the news gradually waned — something Ominis was thankful for. He waited for the moment when he himself would feel lighter, when he could sleep through at least one night without waking up. But that moment never arrived; instead, things only got worse.

Ominis sent numerous owls to Solomon Sallow, hoping he would relent and write at least a word about Sebastian's fate, but all the owls returned after a couple of days with unopened letters. Instead of going to Hogsmeade on weekends, he headed to Feldcroft, facing the perpetually locked doors of the once-warm home. He circled around it, running his fingers along the rough stones and wooden walls, understanding that no one was inside, yet nurturing the hope that one day he would encounter its last and only inhabitant there.

Ominis didn't attend Anne's funeral. He didn't even know where Solomon had chosen to bury her, as Feldcroft didn't have its own cemetery. Perhaps it was somewhere near London, where their parents' graves were. How could Anne be lying underground somewhere? She always brimmed with so much life and energy, even after the curse had weakened her. She couldn't just die in an instant and leave nothing behind. He couldn't convince himself that everything that had happened and continued to happen was true. It felt like some utterly absurd joke that was supposed to end any moment with Sebastian suddenly laughing behind his back, giving him a pat on the shoulder, and marveling at how he could believe any of it. And Ominis wouldn't be angry or annoyed with him; he would just hug him tightly and ask him never to do something like this again. Please, let it be a joke, a dream, a hallucination — anything but reality.

Ominis waited for a letter from the Ministry. They were obligated to invite him to testify in Sebastian's case because he was the only unbiased witness present during the murder. Murder. The word made everything inside him tremble and freeze over with an icy shell. Sebastian — a murderer. What nonsense was that! But he had consciously uttered the killing spell. Not Crucio or Imperius, the consequences of which could have been dealt with much easier. Ominis found himself increasingly pondering whether Sebastian had actually intended to kill his uncle, perhaps even planned it. The spell had sounded too cold, sharp, and resolute coming from his lips. But he didn't want to know. The only thing he desired was to stop feeling what he felt.

***

On this Saturday morning, Ominis struggled to open his eyes with a single thought in his mind: it was all over. He needed to stop waiting for something, stop thinking about Sebastian and Anne, stop replaying the scene in his head where he would meet him again, even if they wouldn't be allowed to approach each other. He wiped away the heavy drops welling up on his eyelashes with his fingertips. How had his face not transformed into a perpetually reddened lump with tiny eye slits over all these weeks? It was even repulsive: to keep looking good when everything inside you was decaying and hurting. Yet, as he ran his hands over his face and through his hair almost every morning, he reassured himself that he hadn't yet transformed into a being that matched his state.

He slowly got out of bed, struggling with the rising nausea and dizziness, his daily morning companions. Judging by the silence around, there was no one in the room for a while, which could only mean that he had successfully overslept another trip to Hogsmeade. Ominis thought about visiting Feldcroft again and checking if Solomon Sallow had returned, hoping to extract at least a little information from him. But his inner helplessness vehemently resisted this idea, wanting him to crawl back under the covers and stay there safely until the next morning. Almost deciding to fall back onto the pillows, Ominis suddenly jerked at an unexpected sound that instantly snapped him awake, and his stomach revolted even stronger. It was a demanding tap of a beak against glass. Tripping over the edge of the carpet and almost falling onto it, Ominis rushed to the window where the sound was coming from. His hands trembled and disobeyed as he untied the paper package from the bird's claw. Nervous laughter escaped his lips, and his heart tightened with anxiety. As the bird flew back out of the window, the parchment slipped from his hands, producing a loud rustling sound, and a disjointed voice of Sebastian echoed in the room:

"God, I finally managed to persuade a nurse to send you an owl. They temporarily locked me up in Mungo's, thinking I'm not sane enough to stand trial. But they say I'm almost back to normal, so you'll probably receive a summons to the hearing soon too. I don't know why I sent you this. Probably just so you could hear my voice and know that I'm alright, because I can imagine how worried you are. I hope you're okay and haven't come to hate me too much. I'm sorry for all of this, I really didn't want it to turn out this way. God, this might sound like a terrible manipulation, but I'd die of happiness if I could see you before the trial. I have to go, I love you, Ominis."

The paper rustled again, ignited, and settled as ashes in Ominis's palms, partially spilling onto the carpet. He stood there stunned, processing what he had just heard. The floor seemed to slip from beneath his feet, and he slowly sank down, gripping the windowsill. Hearing Sebastian's voice after so much time spent without him was overwhelming and shocking. Ominis couldn't breathe; he opened his mouth silently to gulp down a breath of air, but it was almost futile. His fingers crumpled the fabric over his chest, unconsciously trying to free his wildly beating heart. Sebastian. In St. Mungo's. He had to see him while the opportunity still existed. Thoughts raced through his mind; he contemplated how to sneak out of Hogwarts and make his way to London without anyone noticing prematurely. "I need to get Floo Powder," a clear thought formed in Ominis' mind. With its help, he could transport himself to Diagon Alley, and from there he could somehow manage to reach the hospital. He could even try to go directly there, but it was risky since he had no idea if the hospital was connected to the Floo Network and, if it was, whether visitors were allowed to use it for transportation. For a moment, Ominis paused his stream of consciousness, uneasily considering whether it was normal for him to make such a decisive and instantaneous decision. "Sebastian would have made it even faster," flashed through his thoughts, and he didn't doubt it for a second anymore.

***

Of course, searching for Floo Powder should be done in Professor Figg's office. The professor was usually absent-minded enough to leave the door open, and he was frequently absent from Hogwarts, leaving his office unattended. Although Professor Figg often used Apparition to visit the Ministry and other important structures, Ominis knew for sure that he occasionally used Floo Powder as well, as Apparition constantly was exhausting. He carefully cracked the door to the classroom open, sweeping his wand to make sure it was empty. Just in case, he had come up with a cover story for why he would be here on a weekend, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. The classroom was empty, and Ominis let out a sigh of relief: the first step was complete. Even though he had been involved in various adventures with Anne and Sebastian, he had never directly participated in stealing from the professors. Now, he had to do it himself, without a safety net and without Sebastian's remarkable ability to sweet-talk anyone. Ominis walked between rows of desks, silently moving his lips, rehearsing the story he had prepared for the professor. Slowly, he climbed the steps at the corner of the classroom that led to the office. Politely but audibly, he knocked and listened. He swallowed a lump in his throat and wiped his sweaty palms on his robe. He knocked again. Blessed silence, no sounds of footsteps, no shout of "Enter!" Ominis gingerly turned the doorknob, and it instantly gave way, as expected. He stood at the threshold, the darkness ahead revealing blurry silhouettes of cabinets, a desk, stacks of books. No movement. He smiled in relief, and his heart fluttered, taking him to the moment when he could finally touch Sebastian. While he carefully and attentively studied the shelves and cabinets near the fireplace, dangerous ideas began to form in his mind — ideas about how to get Sebastian out of St. Mungo's, how to help him escape before the trial, which would inevitably end with an obvious verdict. All the ideas were utterly insane, yet they sparked a warm, trembling glimmer of hope in his chest. Perhaps Sebastian had already thought of something himself, but mentioning it in a letter that could easily be read by those overseeing him during his stay at the hospital would be a fatal mistake. Then, Ominis's hands found a small pouch with powder inside. Judging by the smell, it was indeed Floo Powder. Swiftly tucking it under his robe, he swept his wand around the office one more time and hastily left, heading straight for the Slytherin common room.

His heart raced as he flew down the stairs into the dungeon of the Slytherin common room, and every half minute, his hand instinctively touched the powder concealed under his robe, making sure he had really taken it, that he hadn't dropped it anywhere along the way. Ominis wasn't planning on sitting down and strategizing; he had no intention of prolonging the awful feeling of loss and loneliness that had been with him every day for the past few weeks. After all, what danger could possibly arise during a relatively straightforward magical journey? Don't dozens of wizards visit their friends and relatives in St. Mungo's every day? Ominis snorted, dismissing his irrational worries. All his apprehensions were just about the fact that he had never done anything like this on his own before, that was all. In the end, he could ask for help from any wizard in Diagon Alley. Yes, that's probably what he would do.

In the common room, he slumped into a large armchair by the fireplace to catch his breath and wait until the few Slytherins who hadn't already left for their activities dispersed. Ominis sincerely hoped that they would indeed leave and not decide to spend the whole day here. He impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, listening to the quiet conversations. However, what he heard did not sit well with him. Someone from an older year was enthusiastically bragging about their father who worked in the Ministry. At first, the conversation sounded like complete bragging boredom, but amidst the stream of words, the Sallow surname flashed by. Ominis jolted, feeling a rush of heat to his head, and leaned forward slightly to catch every word. The Slytherin was recounting the same rumors Ominis had heard multiple times, but he was embellishing them with entirely truthful details, making Ominis want to escape from here as soon as possible. He mentioned the assassination attempt on uncle Solomon, Anne's death, dark magic, and even divulged the approximate date of the trial, hinting that the Ministry was about to summon the sole witness to the incident. The student deliberately drew out the last phrase, and Ominis felt several pairs of eyes on him, but he stubbornly ignored them. He was exhausted from fending off gossip, and arguing with the truth would have been utterly unbearable. Furthermore, he sensed his breath trembling, his fingers involuntarily forming a tense knot in his lap. He couldn't argue even if he wanted to. These events, as they spread as rumors throughout Hogwarts, seemed to occur anew and anew, not allowing fresh wounds to heal. Now, they had opened those wounds with renewed force, drowning Ominis in the viscous black blood of unrelenting pain. He wanted to get up from the chair and retreat to his dormitory, or even better, head to the crypt, but he heard the chatty group begin to disperse, gradually moving towards the exit. With a painful exhale, he relaxed his fingers and massaged them, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present.

On unsteady legs, he approached the fireplace and cautiously poked at the embers with the tip of his boot, feeling their pleasant warmth, just like the never-dying magical flames dancing above them. "I hope I won't end up somewhere unexpected," Ominis thought anxiously, carefully stepping into the fireplace. Although the fireplace was high enough for this kind of movement, the Slytherin's head was still practically in the chimney. Ominis cleared his throat and silently repeated the name of Diagon Alley a couple of times. "Diagon Alley!" he exclaimed loudly and clearly into the coal-black void above him, tossing a handful of the greenish powder at his feet. The fire blazed brighter, its tongues licking his neck and chin, causing Ominis to tightly shut his eyes. In the next moment, he was spinning at a frenetic speed around his own axis, leaving Hogwarts far behind as he raced toward London, with absolutely no idea of what he would do next.