Chapter 18. February 13, 1898

A tall, slender man with blond hair stormed into the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him in frustration. He curled his lip in displeasure as he casually tossed his coat towards the hanger, loosened his tie, and skillfully rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Running a hand through his hair, he released an exasperated sigh. With purpose, he poured a glass of fire whiskey, strolled over to the couch, and gracefully stretched out, resting his head on the armrest.

"Glacius," he muttered, and a couple of ice cubes elegantly clinked into the glass. Ominis Gaunt took a substantial sip and winced. Today, Damien, his colleague and partner, had once again managed to get under his skin. Damien was undoubtedly more experienced, smarter, and older, but Ominis couldn't tolerate his overbearing attitude and commanding tone. Perhaps Damien's lingering distrust stemmed from Ominis's family history, but that was understandable. After all, Ominis should be grateful for being allowed to become an Auror, given his past troubles.

Ominis heard the clock strike midnight and shuddered. He took another measured gulp of whiskey. It was this day, this dreaded date, yet again. Cold sweat broke out, and he covered his weary face with his free hand. Every year, the memories of that harrowing trial resurfaced, and he couldn't escape the overwhelming emotions that engulfed him. Every year, Sebastian's words echoed in his mind: "I still love you, Ominis." And every year, it threatened to break him. He deluded himself into thinking he only dwelled on it annually, ignoring the nightly dreams and relentless memories related to Sallow that plagued him. He had been a terrible friend, fleeing when he should have offered unwavering support. What would it have cost him to respond to Sebastian with reciprocity, to hear hope in his voice? No, he had foolishly pushed Sebastian away, drowning in his own teenage folly. And now? "Have your wounds truly healed, Ominis?" he sneered at himself, taking another sip of the scorching drink. An ice cube grazed his lips, and he parted them slightly, allowing it to dissolve swiftly beneath his fiery tongue. "Or have they grown deeper, with no one to blame but yourself?" he chuckled softly, the pain interwoven with his thoughts. How dramatic his words had been that day. He scoffed. It had taken many years to realize that the only one he had ever truly needed was Sebastian.

He sat up abruptly, feeling as though the choking grip of regret had coiled around his heart, constricting his lungs like a serpent. He loathed this suffocating feeling, but even more, he despised his own sense of powerlessness, and perhaps, himself. Once again, he began to replay that haunting night at St. Mungo's in his mind. He could have aided Sebastian's escape; he was certain of it. He could have set aside his own tumultuous emotions, rescued him, and dealt with the consequences later, even distancing himself if necessary. In a fit of anger, he hurled his glass against the wall, shattering it into hundreds of shards. Did he truly believe, at that moment, that Sebastian deserved a life sentence in Azkaban, or was he merely succumbing to hysteria, terrified of admitting that he had fallen in love with someone deeply entrenched in the dark arts? Seven years later, he was nearly convinced that the latter was the painful truth. Ominis bit his lip and buried his face in his hands, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Yes, he was an Auror who routinely sent individuals like Sebastian to Azkaban without hesitation, but... His heart ached at the thought that in one of those cells, the only person he could truly call close was imprisoned.

During his two years at the Ministry, he had never set foot in Azkaban, even though his duties often required it. His weekdays were filled not only with chasing criminals across Britain but also with monotonous interrogations and occasional revisits to old cases when new developments needed clarification from the inmates. The Ministry preferred criminals to be interrogated within its walls, preferably in the presence of Dementors. However, every time Ominis prepared for one of these interview-visits, Damien would seize control, burying him under paperwork instead. As the junior partner, Gaunt couldn't refuse or argue. Damien was privy to almost the entire history between Ominis and Sebastian and was convinced that Ominis might attempt to visit his former best friend if he entered Azkaban. Though Damien never directly broached the topic with him, Ominis suspected as much. Thus, his partner's actions only irritated him further, despite Damien's competence in all other aspects.

In Damien's presence, Ominis never voiced his regrets or desires for change, nor did he discuss his feelings regarding Sebastian's imprisonment. Over the years as an Auror, Damien had become too perceptive. Ominis couldn't help but admit that his partner was right: he genuinely believed that, given the opportunity, he might use his official position to meet with Sebastian. However, both of them understood that Damien couldn't keep him away from Azkaban indefinitely.

He drew in a deep breath, audibly filling his lungs, if only for a moment envisioning their fingers touching through the grim prison bars, and then promptly pushed those thoughts aside. Sebastian was no longer the same person he had been close to many years ago. Azkaban had the power to change people beyond recognition in a matter of weeks, and Sebastian had already endured seven long years there. Perhaps he had even forgotten that he once had a friend like Ominis, or worse, he had come to despise him for not attempting to change their fate. Such sentiments would be fair and unsurprising. Yet, within Ominis, there remained a pleasant, warm ache at the thought that perhaps not everything was irrevocably lost, that he couldn't help but imagine such unrealistic but deeply desired scenarios. He felt a solitary tear trace down his cheek and hastily wiped it away, as though fearing prying eyes. Little did he realize that he stood on the precipice of a decision he would come to regard as the only right one in his entire life.

***

Returning to Hogwarts after his abrupt departure, Ominis was resolute in his determination to banish Sebastian and all their shared history from his mind. He understood the challenge this posed but recognized that he couldn't truly move forward in life without doing so. He threw himself into his studies, voluntarily taking on extra homework, dedicating hours to the library's quiet corners, and frequently practicing magic with the consent of his professors in vacant classrooms. He hadn't dared to enter the crypt since that fateful day, even though the urge to do so occasionally overwhelmed him as he passed by. The crypt still bore Sebastian's presence and lingering traces of dark magic, and Ominis couldn't allow himself to be drawn back into it.

The precise moment of his unwavering commitment to completing his seventh year, excelling in his N.E.W.T.s, and enrolling in the Auror training program eluded him. At times, he considered that he might have become an Auror regardless of the events that had unfolded, as his disdain for dark wizards had been ingrained in him practically from birth. Yet it was equally plausible that everything that had transpired had intensified his emotions, including his abhorrence of dark arts, to a degree where he couldn't envision any other life path.

Nonetheless, his attachment to Sebastian refused to wane; instead, it grew steadily within him. Amidst layers of responsibilities, goals, and aspirations, it persistently made its presence known with a dull ache in his heart. He often found himself so immersed in memories that he had to reread several pages of a book he had scanned with his eyes but not with his mind. Nevertheless, Ominis held firm in his belief that if he continued to suppress and ignore it, one day he would awaken unburdened and, perhaps, even content.

***

"It didn't work," he smirked to himself as he stood up to clean up the shards. No matter how diligently he tried to extinguish these feelings, they refused to weaken for even a moment.

Ominis successfully completed the Auror training program with top marks and swiftly found himself in the Magical Law Enforcement Department, highly recommended by all his professors. His recruitment was a foregone conclusion – possessing a cold, disciplined demeanor, remarkable intelligence, and extraordinary magical abilities despite his condition, Ominis had caught the attention of fellow Aurors even during his training at the Ministry. Initially, he was tasked with paperwork, necessitating a new wand from Mr. Ollivander, a more powerful one that allowed him to even decipher letters on pages. However, merely a couple of months later, an old acquaintance, Damien Savage, a veteran of the department for over a decade, proposed becoming his partner and tackling more challenging cases. Ominis eagerly agreed, despite the fact that Damien's previous partner had met a tragic fate during their last assignment. The adrenaline he experienced during pursuits, magical skirmishes, and even physical confrontations with criminals enthralled him, offering respite from thoughts of Sebastian, at least temporarily. He genuinely didn't think about Sallow when he and Damien embarked on yet another moderately dangerous mission. And he cherished that distraction. That was until he returned to his London apartment, where the weight of suppressed emotions bore down on him even more heavily than physical exhaustion. Consequently, whenever he wasn't on assignment or inundated with Ministry work, Ominis preferred to seek solace in firewhisky. Sometimes, the drink heightened his emotional state, but it unquestionably made it easier to fall asleep.

Concerning his life beyond work, it was virtually nonexistent. He didn't make any effort to maintain friendships, not even with Damien, whom he encountered almost daily, let alone pursue any form of relationship. Upon securing his position, Ominis promptly relocated to an apartment closer to the Ministry, striving to spend as little time there as possible. He despised himself for his inability to assemble a semblance of a fulfilling life, something akin to what others experienced. However, he had long ceased trying. One might argue that he had many years ahead of him, but Ominis couldn't conceive that the quantity of remaining years could impact anything.

He gathered the glass shards with his hands, not flinching as the cuts remained on his fingers, and disposed of them. He was on the verge of grabbing a fresh glass to continue his drinking when he heard a knock at the door. He sighed irritably, suspecting the identity of the visitor, briefly contemplating ignoring the knock but ultimately deciding to open it. As expected, it was Damien.

"Do you not fancy a visit to the pub on the corner?" Damien inquired from the threshold, nonchalantly stepping inside the apartment to prevent Ominis from closing the door on him.

"Your warmth and penchant for small talk are killing me," Gaunt muttered, turning away and wiping the blood from his hand with a towel.

"I just think you need to relax more and see people. It's purely out of professional interest. A normal social life would do wonders for your work. You're cooped up in here like a recluse, it's pathetic," Damien walked through the living room, grimacing at the sight of the almost empty bottle.

"Back off, Savage. I'm not obliged to discuss anything with you besides work," Ominis flopped onto the couch, grabbing the bottle and intending to down whatever was left in it.

"Fine, fine, we need to talk about work anyway. So get off your ass, and let's go. And by the way, how do you talk to your senior partner, who actually pulled you out from under a mountain of paperwork and into a proper job?" he grabbed Ominis by the elbow, trying to pull him up from the couch, but Ominis pulled his arm away, retorting.

"I don't owe you anything, Savage," but nevertheless, he stood up, draped his coat over his shoulders, and they ventured out into the London night, concealed by the dense twilight.

The pub on the corner was a typical Muggle establishment, but its owner was a Squib, so wizards occasionally frequented it. She greeted the men warmly and signaled to her assistant to lead them to a table. After settling in and ordering drinks, the two Aurors sat in silence for a while, but then Damien broke the silence.

"So, how are you doing?" he asked, not really expecting a normal response. Ominis rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

"Work, Savage. You said we needed to talk about work, so I came with you," Gaunt replied irritably, as if explaining simple truths to a child. The waitress brought their drinks and a plate of potato chips, and Ominis immediately picked up his glass, clinking the ice against the sides.

"Alright," Damien sighed, giving in. His tone immediately shifted to an official and business-like one, "new details have come up regarding the Richard Jackdaw murder case. We need to re-interview Anne Thisbe to gather additional information. It's possible she's not guilty of his death. Judge Ogden has assigned this to us, and for some reason, he's in a hurry. I'll have to send you to Azkaban next week because my schedule is packed with hearings that I must attend," he pulled a folder out of his pocket and handed it to Ominis, "study it in your spare time; it contains all the information about the case and the questions you need to ask her. And not just ask, but get a clear answer. It won't be easy; I've interrogated Anne before, she's not herself. But I think you can handle it."

"Alright," Ominis felt a wave of nausea at the thought of visiting Azkaban, but he didn't let it show on his face. At least, he hoped he didn't, "is there anything else?"

"Ominis…" Damien sighed, realizing that there was nothing more to say about work. He was concerned about Gaunt's behavior, but delving into his soul to find out what was wrong was impossible. If he only knew Ominis from work, he wouldn't be worried at all. Many Aurors at the Ministry are as gloomy as a thunderstorm, but they start joking and smiling as soon as the workday is over. Ominis, on the other hand, was always gloomy. He was nothing like the boy Damien had met at the "Leaky Cauldron" seven years ago. That boy was quiet and reserved, but he was alive. The current Ominis seemed to exude an aura of otherworldly coldness.

"Anything else, Damien?" Gaunt asked a bit more gently after downing his glass of whiskey. He had already pushed his chair back, preparing to leave.

"No, that's it," Damien replied wearily, deciding to surrender for today. After all, he had managed to get him out of the house for a whole twenty minutes.

"Then see you later," Ominis stood up, adjusted his coat, grabbed the folder, and, turning on his heels, headed for the exit.

"See you," Damien mumbled quietly, taking a sip of his beer and tossing some chips after it. Someday he would figure out the reasons behind this behavior and maybe help fix something. Why did he need this? He had no idea. But he wished that Ominis would genuinely smile at least once.

***

Ominis' heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest as he walked home, clutching the folder that granted him access to Azkaban, his hands trembling. He tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat, relieved that he had managed to escape from Damien so quickly. He was sure Damien hadn't noticed any compromising emotions on his face, but he knew for certain that he couldn't simulate complete composure for too long. His hands had started trembling the moment he reached out to take the papers. His voice was likely to start shaking shortly after his hands. He practically raced down the street, releasing his anxiety through rapid, nervous movements of his legs. He felt his stomach twisting, his head starting to buzz, and his palms sweating, eager to release their burden. God, he had to see Sebastian, he simply had to. Even if Sebastian didn't remember him, even if he had gone completely insane. He would regret much less if the meeting with his former classmate went terribly wrong than if it didn't happen at all. He raced up the stairs to his floor, slammed the front door loudly, and collapsed onto the floor, covering his face with his hands. Hysterical laughter escaped his lips, breaking through his crooked smile, and tears filled his eyes. Damien wanted him to genuinely smile? Well, here he was, smiling. Though probably not quite the way Damien had hoped. Tonight, alcohol wouldn't help Ominis sleep, not even pure spirits.