Chapter 19. February 16, 1898

It was early in the morning, and Ominis Gaunt strode briskly, his steps filled with nervous energy, along the corridor on the second level of the Ministry. In one hand, he tightly clutched a small briefcase containing the necessary documents, while his black coat dangled over his elbow. As he passed by the secretary's desk, he nodded in acknowledgment before she could even greet him or offer coffee. Of course, he desperately needed coffee, preferably spiked with a bit of whiskey to quell his jitters. He tossed his coat and briefcase into their shared office with Damien, only to discover that his partner was conspicuously absent. Annoyed, he retraced his steps back to the secretary's desk to inquire about Damien's whereabouts. Damien was supposed to be present, providing him with the access document for Azkaban, which had been signed by several colleagues. "Not that he necessarily has to be here; they didn't specify a specific time; morning is a rather nebulous concept," he muttered to himself, attempting to suppress his irritation. Ominis' movements were sharp and jerky, struggling to contain the tumultuous emotions that surged within him. His feelings had melded into a distastefully bitter cocktail, but fear remained the dominant ingredient.

"Betty, have you seen Damien today?" Ominis inquired of the secretary, making no effort to conceal his frustration and displeasure. He reached out to accept the cup of hot beverage she offered.

"No, sir," her voice carried a note of concern, and a gentle, reassuring smile crept onto her face, "You're the first one here today, as usual."

"Thank you for the coffee," Ominis attempted to smile in return, though he quickly lowered the cup behind the counter to conceal the trembling in his hands. He turned swiftly and retraced his steps down the corridor toward his office.

"You're welcome. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Gaunt!" she called after him, sighing softly.

Ominis sank heavily into the chair, pulling a small metal flask from the desk drawer and generously splashing its contents into his coffee. Betty had thoughtfully left his cup less than full, providing room for his invigorating morning mixture. "What a wonderful girl," Ominis thought, taking the first sip with pleasure as the drink pleasantly scorched his tongue and throat, momentarily dulling the knot of fear coiled in his chest. For a moment, the burning sensation caught his breath, and his eyes welled up. The coffee was scalding hot.

He leaned back in the chair, propping his feet up on his writing desk, and prepared to wait for his partner's arrival. They hadn't set a specific meeting time, so Ominis was to blame for coming so early, but his frayed nerves had left him no choice but to leave home. He had already spent the entire night pacing the grimy streets, and as morning approached, he paced his bedroom and living room. The tension wouldn't let his body relax for a moment, and he felt that any attempt to sleep or even lie in bed would drive him mad.

So, he had barely heard the clock striking six in the morning when he shot out of the house. It wasn't that waiting inside the Ministry building was more pleasant, but at least it was easier to hold back and pretend to be calm here. He had been practicing that for almost two years. His agitation only manifested itself in the trembling of his hands and the nervous tapping of his boot soles against each other. After finishing his coffee, he poured the remaining fire whiskey into the still-hot cup but decided against drinking it, knowing that Damien wouldn't give him the pass if he smelled of alcohol. Finally, the door swung open, and to Ominis' surprise, his heart galloped, leaping up into his throat.

"Oh, you're already here?" Damien greeted him without a hint of surprise in his voice, whistling some light tune and rustling his coat.

"As you can see," Ominis replied indifferently, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat. Though he couldn't see it, he was sure Damien was placing his Azkaban pass on the table. He could almost feel the burning heat and chilling cold emanating from the paper.

"Before I give you the pass, we need to talk about something we've never discussed before, though we should have," Savage said in a serious tone. Ominis became alert, but he didn't show it, continuing to sit in the same relaxed posture.

"We never talked about it because I didn't want to intrude, and I still don't, but... Please, don't try to meet with those you knew before Azkaban. Azkaban takes a person's soul, life, identity—call it what you want. It distorts everything that was good in them. Despite the fact that many aren't serving life sentences, none of them ever come out. Because they have no reason to live anymore," Damien was clearly hinting at Sebastian without wanting to utter his name aloud.

Gaunt carefully concealed all his emotions regarding this matter, and he had never spoken about his feelings, but when Damien mentioned Sallow, Ominis' face briefly contorted. Most likely, even he didn't have time to notice it. An ordinary person wouldn't have caught those changes. But as an Auror, Savage had spent a good part of his life studying human facial expressions, so now he wanted to soften the message but still tell Ominis what he should have said a long time ago.

"You've heard these horror stories about Azkaban many times, and you've probably stopped believing in them. And if there's still hope in your heart that your case will be different, it won't be. I once got burned the same way, so I know what I'm talking about, Ominis."

Ominis took a deep breath and held it. He didn't like Damien's perceptiveness at all, but deep down, he was grateful that Damien had at least tried to make his lecture abstract, without turning it into irritating lectures. It made him wonder if Damien was perceptive enough to realize that Ominis wasn't going to follow his advice. He exhaled slowly, took his feet off the desk, and leaned toward Damien, extending his hand.

"I've heard you," Gaunt said calmly, "thanks for the warning."

"Alright," Savage acted as if he were relieved to finish the conversation, though his inner unease told him that he hadn't convinced his partner. But he knew Ominis as a very prudent person, so he was almost sure that at the last moment, just a few meters away from Sallow's cell, he would decide to turn back. Almost sure.

He placed the pass paper into Ominis' outstretched hand, and Ominis, trying not to rush, packed it into his travel case. It took him an incredible amount of concentration and effort to keep his hands from trembling even in this moment. But when the latch clicked, he gripped the handle of the case so hard that his knuckles turned white, grabbed his coat with the other hand, and after a brief farewell to his partner, left the office.

***

A massive, ominous triangular tower loomed before him, overwhelming with its monstrosity and pressing everything beneath it with its sheer presence. Ominis took a deep breath, inhaling the salty icy air and tilted his head back, pointing his wand upwards, trying to discern where the black smooth wall of the tower ended, but to no avail. Dense gray clouds enveloped the top, hiding it so skillfully that one could assume the building stretched infinitely into the sky. The massive wall seemed to slowly descend directly onto him, filling all the space around, obscuring the sky, relentlessly burying Ominis beneath it. He wrapped himself in his coat, trying to shield himself from the freezing wind blowing from all sides simultaneously, from the splashes of cold seawater hitting his face. Azkaban was hidden far away from both Muggles and wizards on a remote island in the North Sea. It was perhaps the most unwelcoming island in the world. The ceaseless roar of stormy waves expelled all thoughts from his mind, filling all the space inside it, not allowing any other sounds to penetrate. But were there any other sounds here at all? Not a single blade of grass grew on this island, not a single bug scurried about; only bare, wet rocks stood everywhere, preserving centuries of mournful silence.

Ominis quickly moved forward, slightly leaning to withstand the powerful gusts of air. He hadn't reached the wall yet when a part of the bricks shifted, revealing an opening through which one of the Azkaban guards appeared. Although the prisoners were mostly guarded by Dementors (and destroyed by them over time), there was always at least one wizard present in the prison, mainly responsible for the practically futile task of checking passes for the Aurors and attempting to release prisoners after they had served their sentences. There were so few who could leave Azkaban and genuinely wanted to do so that it sometimes took years before even one cell was vacated. However, it was important to the Ministry that Azkaban was not entirely under the control of Dementors, so the wizard guards here sat mostly idly, serving as more of a formality than a necessity.

"Quite the weather, isn't it? Nothing like London!" boomed a tall, broad-shouldered man, trying to shout over the storm. He extended a weathered hand in greeting, "I haven't seen you here before. You must be a recent Auror, right?"

"Yes," Ominis replied, shaking the guard's hand and wincing slightly as the man's grip nearly crushed his fingers.

"I'm Benedict Abbott, but everyone just calls me Ben. I've been a guard at this wretched place for twenty years!" he boomed with laughter again.

"I'm Ominis Gaunt," the Auror nodded and cautiously withdrew his hand from Ben's bear-like grip. Ominis pondered what it must be like to spend one's entire life in a place like this, even if you weren't a convicted criminal. True, the guards took shifts, changing every couple of weeks, but it was still eerie. He wondered if their minds also changed under the influence of this environment.

"Alright, let's not linger out here. Let's go inside," Ben gestured for Ominis to follow as he moved back toward a small opening in the wall.

"It's about time," Ominis whispered under his breath, rubbing his palms together and hiding his face behind the raised collar of his coat.

Once inside, Ominis silently handed his access document to the guard, who didn't bother to scrutinize it closely but simply copied the document number into his logbook.

"How do I get to Anne Thisbe's cell?" Ominis asked, shaking off his coat to remove the frozen droplets.

"She's at the very end of the first-floor corridor, on the left side. Poor woman has completely lost her mind. I have no idea why the Ministry needed her, but I won't pry. Although, if you ask me, I'm not sure she's capable of providing any useful information," bitterness crept into Ben's voice, indicating that he might have known Anne slightly better than other inmates.

"I also need Sebastian Sallow," Ominis added, doing his best to keep any tremor out of his voice. He concentrated on making these words sound as casual as the first.

"Third floor, third cell on the right from the staircase," the guard replied, checking his notes, "I hope it goes quickly. I'd recommend starting with Sallow rather than Thisbe. His mind is still somewhat intact," Ben chuckled, and that laughter pierced Ominis' heart like a venomous thorn. Fear once again gripped his insides. What if Sebastian had truly lost himself in these endlessly dreary and lonely corridors?

"Thank you," Ominis replied politely and composedly. Then, with a sense of purpose, trying not to rush, he headed for the passage leading to the cells. Ben activated some magical mechanisms in his office, and the Auror slowly walked through the opened archway, which instantly sealed shut behind him.

He felt as if he had been thrown into icy, murky water. Moving was extremely difficult, and thinking was even harder. He could barely lift his legs, losing awareness of why he was here. Now he wanted to postpone the moment of meeting with Sebastian, but he understood that even if he strongly desired it, he wouldn't be able to converse with Miss Thisbe. Damien had warned that she was a very difficult inmate, and Ominis wasn't even in a state to communicate with a completely normal Azkaban guard.

Slowly reaching the staircase, he headed to the third floor. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of footsteps and the sharp, solitary cries of prisoners who sensed someone's presence. He didn't let go of the railings, fearing he would collapse to his knees and lose consciousness right here; his palms left moist, salty traces on the railings.

Overheated thoughts raced through his head, scorching every nerve ending with unbearable pain. His teeth chattered, but this sound was merely an extension of the ceaseless shivering in his body. His heart stopped for a few seconds when he finally reached the desired floor. Barely shuffling his disobedient legs, he took a step toward the cells. Third one on the right. He didn't even need to walk the entire corridor; he didn't even have time or the ability to change his mind.

He passed by the first cell, from which quiet, venomous curses could be heard. Following it was the second cell, where a faint rustling could be discerned. Opposite it, he stopped and nearly turned back, remembering Damien's words. If Sebastian's cell wasn't the next one, he could have turned around and fled. But his mind planted the thought that Sebastian was literally just a few steps away. It was so unbearably painful and so unbearably desired that he decisively took a few more steps forward and froze. At that moment, he was ready to die.

He held his breath and slowly raised his wand, pointing it toward the bars. The world around him ceased to exist when he saw the faintly familiar male silhouette sitting with his back to him in the far corner of the cell. Hot blood coursed through his heart, poisoning him when he realized how emaciated this person looked. Through the prisoner's uniform, he could discern protruding ribs. Oh, how he wished he didn't have this disgustingly enhanced wand that allowed him to see such details! He clenched his teeth and pocketed the magical wand.

Sebastian had always been the sensation under his fingertips, the pleasant musky scent in his nose, the warmth and tenderness under his lips, the breath that sounded in his ears, the love that burned against his skin, the infectious laughter, and the velvety whisper. He was supposed to remain that way.

Ominis took a step forward and wrapped his fingers around one of the bars. Flakes of rust embedded themselves in his palm, but he didn't even notice. He tried with all his might to squeeze out a single word.

"Sebastian..." he murmured so quietly. This name escaped his lips for the first time in so many years. It left an unexpectedly pleasant taste on his lips, which, however, was replaced by a cloying bitterness.

His body could no longer bear everything that was happening; he fell to his knees, pressed against the bars, and uncontrollable tears streamed from his eyes. He tried to wipe them away with his sleeves, but it was futile. These were the tears he had held back all these years.

***

The prisoner jerked at the sudden voice behind him. A voice that had spoken his name so strangely familiar. He turned slowly, tensely, over his shoulder, squinting. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw a well-dressed and impeccably groomed man who, for some reason, was sitting on his knees in front of his cell. He turned his whole body toward him and, without getting up from the floor, inched a bit closer. The man was crying. Bitterly, as if he had just lost everything he loved. Bewilderment crossed Sebastian's face. In all the years he had been here, which he had long since lost count of, no visitors had ever come to see him. Especially not such strange ones. Confusion and fear, curiosity and suspicion. Yielding to the third emotion, he slowly moved forward. He clenched his lips, thinking about what he should say. When was the last time he had spoken aloud? He had no idea. Then his heart scorched with searing pokers. Every time he regained consciousness, an image of a certain girl would surface in his mind, causing unbearable pain in his heart and a desire to lose himself again. Horror and despair began to engulf him again, as they always did when he started to realize where he was. But this time, he wanted to overcome this pain and approach the stranger. He wanted to know why he was here.

Sebastian, with a quiet and painful groan, pulled out a shard of glass from under his uniform, which had served as a way to return to oblivion all this time. It was important not to overdo it. He needed to shut down these feelings that were tearing him apart while remaining conscious. He plunged the shard into his wrist and slowly traced it along the swelling bright blue vein to his elbow. His nerve endings instantly responded to the physical pain, diverting his consciousness and concentrating all his meager thoughts on the insane agony. The mask of indifference once again fell upon his face, a faint, crazy smile tugging at his lips. The image of the girl disappeared, the pain he brought with it did too. He carefully tucked his sharp, transparent remedy back under his uniform shirt and continued to crawl toward the stranger on the other side of the bars, stepping into puddles of his own blood and slipping clumsily. He could smell the acrid metallic scent in his nose, which calmed him and cleared his mind. Sebastian knew for sure that this was the only way that helped him not go completely insane, like his neighbors. He felt his vision starting to darken and realized that he had slightly exceeded the dose he needed, but there was nothing he could do about it. In that case, he just had to try to hold out here long enough to satisfy his curiosity. When he found himself next to the handsome man, he made one last effort and clasped his fingers with his own wet, red palm, which had been gripping the bars of his cell so tightly. The stranger's face, suddenly tilting upward, seemed all too familiar, stirring something conflicting inside him.

***

Ominis was stunned as he listened to the sounds emanating from Sebastian. He could hear Sebastian approaching heavily, but he couldn't even move a finger, continuing to tremble with sobs. When he felt Sebastian's damp warmth on his palm, a familiar warm, salty scent reached his nose. He recognized him in an instant, and his heart raced even faster. Why was Sebastian's hand covered in blood? What the heck was happening? He panicked and hastily pulled his magic wand from his pocket, recoiling in astonishment and pulling his hand out of Sebastian's grip. Trembling, he reached for his mouth to cover it, but when he saw his bloody fingers, he stopped. Ominis trembled even harder as he held Sebastian in the focus of his wand. The deep burgundy color soaked into his sleeves, matching the stains on his face, chest, and knees smeared with blood on the cell floor. Sebastian's eyes gleamed with childlike puzzlement, and his trembling smile radiated friendliness. It was clear that Sebastian didn't understand that what was happening to him was abnormal. Ominis bit his lip, feeling the weight of guilt pressing down on him like a freezing block of ice. It was he who had done this to Sebastian by turning away from him back at St. Mungo's Hospital. He had no right to recoil from him; he had no right to feel fear and disgust. He quickly approached the bars again, suppressing his fear, and took Sebastian's bleeding hand in his own.

"Sebastian... Do you recognize me?" he said with hope, silently praying that his friend would answer "yes."

"The name Sebastian seems familiar to me. Your face... It seems like I've seen it before," replied a quiet voice, and everything inside Ominis collapsed into a bottomless pit. He pressed his forehead against the bars opposite Sebastian's face.

"I'm Ominis, your best friend. We studied at Hogwarts together. Please, remember," he whispered pleadingly, feeling hope dissolving faster than sugar in hot tea.

"Do you know that girl who looks so much like me? Do the three of us have something in common? I don't want to remember what's associated with her; it's unbearably painful for me. I have to do this to myself to come to my senses and not go insane," he raised the hand from which blood was still dripping.

"Anne... You mean Anne, your sister... Sebastian, I'll get you out of here, I'll help you cope with this, I promise. I won't allow everything to end like this. You've paid for your sins in full. You deserve at least a small piece of a normal life," Ominis whispered, not understanding whose words were more directed at: Sebastian or himself. He would not let Sebastian stay here for anything. He would help him learn to remember those events without pain; he would give him the love he deserved.

"I would gladly get out of here, Ominis. But I don't think the Dementors will allow it," Sebastian smiled, and Ominis trembled even more. The tone with which Sebastian pronounced his name remained unchanged. He remembers. Deep down, he remembers everything.

"They won't be a hindrance to us, you'll see," Ominis reached his hand through the bars and touched Sebastian's cheek with it. It was no longer as soft, but still very warm. He slowly ran his fingers a bit further and touched his lips, which still curled up at the corners. This was still the same Sebastian he had kissed on Christmas night in the Slytherin common room, sipping red currant rum. And he would definitely bring him back.