Chapter 20. February 16, 1898

Broken and empty, Ominis returned to his unfriendly apartment, dragging his feet, trying to piece his body together, forcing it to climb the stairs, insert the key into the lock, and pull the handle of the impossibly heavy door. His hands and legs didn't obey him, hanging limply, bending at the wrong angles. He felt as though he had swallowed a substantial dose of poison and was slowly dying, struggling to crawl to safety where he could draw his last breath far from prying eyes. He barely managed to drag himself to the sofa and collapse onto it, not bothering to remove his wet coat or his boots, which left muddy tracks behind. He was so weakened that not even the hungriest Dementor could have extracted anything from him. His heart seemed to have withered into a gray, shriveled lump, slowly cracking. Silence and emptiness echoed in his mind, although just an hour ago, there had been little room for thoughts and feelings in it. He was stunned by what he had seen, what he had felt, and what he had heard.

He tried to talk to Sebastian, tearfully telling him stories from their childhood, carefully avoiding any mention of Anne. However, his friend only expressed amazement at how he could forget such things and honestly admitted that he couldn't remember any of it, despite Ominis generously seasoning his story with details. Only once did recognition flicker in Sebastian's tone when he contemplatively confessed that the sound of Ominis' voice made him feel some inexplicable warmth and calm. However, after saying this, Sallow strangely laughed, as if he had said something utterly foolish, and refused to delve further into the topic. Moreover, he instantly changed when Ominis attempted to discuss his feelings. His voice began to tremble and break with fear, his speech became disjointed and utterly nonsensical, and he reached for his shard once again.

That's when Ominis thrust his hands through the bars, seizing Sebastian by the wrists to prevent him from hurting himself again. A wave of chilling horror swept over him as he felt Sebastian's mangled hands, covered with the bumps of old scars and rough scabs from recent cuts. One wrist had a bone that was too distinctly protruding, and as Ominis explored it, he realized it had been broken and poorly mended under these conditions. Desperately, he moved his hands up Sebastian's forearms, continuing to grip his fingers tightly to keep him from escaping. He could feel that there was hardly a spot left on his hands that was untouched. He was so overwhelmed by this that he didn't even hear Sebastian's screams when his fingers reached today's fresh wound and were immersed in hot blood. Reaching the elbows, he squeezed even harder, pulling the trembling and screaming Sallow towards the bars. For a few seconds, Sallow froze and fell silent, staring at Ominis' painfully contorted face.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian," he barely whispered into his friend's face, trying to grasp the all-consuming black abyss inside Sebastian, where the only way to escape was through physical pain in such unimaginable quantities. His own mental torment now seemed to him like a baby's whim, and it made him feel even worse. He continued to grip Sebastian's hands until he stopped writhing and screaming, occasionally interrupting his cries with wild, hysterical laughter. When Sebastian froze, breathing heavily, Ominis released him, feeling the warm blood flow back into his stiffened fingers.

"Thank you, Ominis," he heard Sebastian's trembling, exhausted whisper, which sounded so clear and pure, as if everything before had been a pretense, "I won't need to resort to my medicine again today."

Ominis shuddered throughout his entire body, recalling those countless, horrible scars on his best friend's hands, hands that had always been so tender before. He understood that blaming himself was irrational and that it wouldn't fix anything, but he couldn't stop feeling guilty, as if he had personally left each of those scars. He pulled one hand out of his coat sleeve, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and ran his fingertips over his skin. Smooth, without a single scratch. Soft, as if it were moisturized daily with cosmetic oils. He felt sickened by himself and, sitting up on the couch, reached for the bottle standing beside him, still corked. He needed to forget right now, so he could later decide what to do next. The only thing he was absolutely sure of was that he wouldn't leave Sebastian to rot in this heartbreaking place, even if it cost him his own worthless life.

After taking a few big gulps directly from the bottle, Ominis let out a heavy sigh and kicked a nearby case filled with papers. Of course, he hadn't completed the Ministry's assignment. He had completely forgotten about it the moment he stepped onto the first step of the staircase leading to the upper floors of Azkaban. And he couldn't care less. What was some Ministry task compared to contemplating how to rescue a murderer from prison? He smirked cynically, running endless scenarios through his mind. The only thing he was certain of was that he could easily Apparate with Sebastian out of Azkaban. The guard was unlikely to interfere, especially if Ominis confidently stated that he was taking Sallow for questioning. And even if the guard got suspicious, dealing with one person wouldn't pose much of a challenge. But what should he do next?

Hiding in London, especially in the same apartment where he had been living, would be impossible. He needed to find a new hiding place, but that was quite challenging. As soon as the Ministry learned about the escape of a criminal, especially one accompanied by an Auror, their photos would grace the front page of the Daily Prophet, and a handsome reward would be offered for their capture. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement would make sure their faces and a specially designated phone line appeared in Muggle newspapers too. Any landlord would recognize them as soon as they saw the newspaper, and they'd be reported. Perhaps he could buy a house somewhere in the British countryside, but it was unlikely he could find a place where none of the neighbors read newspapers. Besides, Ominis didn't exactly have the money to buy his own property; otherwise, he would have moved out of here long ago.

What if he tried to escape to another country on a steamship? Somewhere where there was no local magical government or British branches. However, if such places existed, they were likely far away from Britain, and the journey would take weeks. They couldn't afford the luxury of a long voyage where they couldn't escape at any moment. Besides, since Ominis had never been abroad, magical Apparation wouldn't work for him. He didn't know any places or addresses to Apparate to. His brain slowly moved towards one suitable solution he didn't want to accept, exploring all the other options, trying to find a safe one. But each of those options didn't even come close to being considered "good" or "might work," carrying a high probability of being captured before spring. Ominis grimaced again, taking another sip of whiskey and licking his dry lips. He needed time to let this thought form.

He let out a deep sigh, thinking for a moment about Damien and his reaction when Ominis wouldn't show up at work without explanation for a day, two, a week. When he would hear that Ominis had helped a criminal escape and was now hiding somewhere. When he would realize that his partner and friend had become his target. He rubbed his fingers over his nose, trying to suppress a wide grin. He would never truly escape the darkness; it would always reach out its long, gnarled fingers for him.

"All right, I need to say it out loud after all," he muttered softly, tilting his head back and covering the upper half of his face with his hand. His voice quivered slightly, a trace of fear running through it, but there were also budding traces of determination, "I will write to my father and ask for his permission to return to the estate."

It seemed like the entire world around him fell silent as those last words rang out. Only these words continued to reverberate in the absolute stillness, growing louder and louder, echoing off the walls, the ceiling, and shooting out somewhere beyond the window. His pounding heart echoed these words too. He would never have made this decision if he hadn't been driven to the brink of despair. But at the same time, such an action made perfect sense. His family despised the current government far more than they did their wayward son, so hiding two criminals would be a matter of honor for them. Perhaps his father would even chuckle approvingly when he read the letter, in which Ominis would describe a slightly altered version of their escape with Sebastian, leaving out the part where he was an Auror. He hadn't seen his family since he entered Hogwarts at the age of eleven. For the first two years, he received Christmas cards from his mother, but by the third year, even those stopped coming. He had no idea if his parents were alive, what his brother was up to, if their estate still existed, or if it had crumbled into oblivion, burying their entire history. But he definitely had to give this option a try, as it seemed to be the safest from the perspective of someone who had to hide from the Ministry of Magic. He took a few more sips from the heavy glass bottle, trying to calm the rising nausea, and began to search the room for a quill, inkwell, and clean parchment. He would write the letter right now, wasting no time. He couldn't afford to change his mind and start futilely searching for a better solution that simply didn't exist. He felt a strange calm and absolute indifference as he finally found all the writing materials he needed. The thought of contacting his own family would have horrified him just a week ago, and he would never have done it. But now... Now, in his mind, there were relentlessly pulsating emotions toward Sebastian, mixed with an overwhelming sense of guilt and a desire to, if not fix, at least mend their broken, twisted lives. He wondered if things could have turned out differently.

***

Hello, Father,

I hope you and Mother are well and feeling fine. I can imagine how surprised you must be to receive a letter from me after all these years. Perhaps you've long thought of me as gone, but no, I'm still alive and in rather good health. I'm writing to you not because I'm homesick or seeking forgiveness. I'm writing because I'm in desperate need of your help. Yes, it's as sudden as that. You might want to crumple up this letter and throw it away right now, but I implore you to read it through to the end out of sheer curiosity, at least.

The thing is, I need to lay low for a while and hide from the Ministry of Magic. And where better to hide from their watchful eyes and claws than in the ancestral estate of the Gaunt family? I also need to hide my friend and accomplice from them, someone I recently helped escape from Azkaban. I assure you that as soon as everything settles down, and we find another equally suitable refuge, we will disappear from your sight.

Your son,

Ominis Gaunt

Ominis read the letter once more. His eyes were red and teary from the strain; even at work, he had never spent so many hours in a row, poring over endless rows of letters and dots. He set aside his magic wand, the reddish glow at its tip extinguishing, and his gaze was veiled in blissful darkness. He sat, hunched over the parchment with his quill, until the early hours of the morning, covering several dozen sheets. It seemed to have turned out quite well. He had tried to write the letter with coldness and respect, hinting at some illegal activities he allegedly engaged in with his accomplice. He would come up with a more detailed legend later; for now, it was important to obscure the truth and at least pique the Gaunt family's interest with this letter. If they didn't respond, he was prepared to arrive at the estate in person and assert his right to be there. He knew that even if he showed up with a scandal, the last thing they would do is involve the authorities. They would sooner kill him on the spot than report him to the Ministry of Magic. So he felt some degree of confidence as he walked to the nearest magical post office, which looked like an ordinary owlery with an attendant.

Despite his long absence, Ominis still remembered the address of his despised home perfectly, and with creaking motions, he inscribed it on the envelope. A wave of fear washed over him again as he tied the letter to the owl's leg and sent it into flight. But deep down, he felt that he might stop being afraid for a while.

Standing among the owls for some time, he began to slowly regain his composure. His fingers slid over the soft, fluffy feathers of one of the birds, and this tactile sensation calmed and pacified him. He counted his breaths silently, listening to the gradually slowing rhythm in his chest. Now he would calmly walk to the Ministry of Magic building, with an indifferent expression on his face, inform Damien that Anne Thisbe was completely out of sorts, and he hadn't been able to extract the necessary information from her. He would conclude their conversation by saying that he would undertake another expedition to Azkaban in the coming days to finally complete the assignment. Throughout the conversation, he wouldn't let any emotion seep out, appearing convincing and self-assured. Perhaps he would casually raise an annoyed eyebrow if Savage attempted to touch on personal topics. He would stay at work until all his colleagues had left, and when Betty, looking concerned, came into his office to bid farewell and remind him that everyone had already gone home, he would give her a cardboard smile and nod. When he heard the sound of her heels fading away in the corridor, he would return to his tiny, cramped apartment. This routine would continue for several days as he waited for a response from his family, preparing himself for the upcoming meeting with Sebastian. He mentally urged himself to act cautiously and without haste, to push aside his emotions so as not to let them ruin everything, as had happened last time. It's better for him to spend more time on preparation and planning, leaving Sebastian in Azkaban for a couple of days longer than ending up there together with him due to his own carelessness.

Ominis stepped out onto the chilly street and walked briskly toward the Ministry, a faint smile playing on his lips, one he tried to suppress but it kept returning, causing the muscles of his face, unaccustomed to such movement after all these years, to ache slightly. Even the snow mixed with rain, its coarse flakes attempting to sneak under his collar, didn't seem as unpleasant as in the days past. His heart pulsed pleasantly in his chest, unwavering and uninterrupted, as if it had been filled anew with bright, warm blood, displacing the dark, viscous sludge it had been clogged with before. In his mind, he heard Sebastian's soft whisper again, speaking his name just as gently and warmly as he had seven years ago, and he bit his lip, trying to prevent it from spreading into a wider smile.

***

The conversation with Damien went absolutely smoothly and very quickly, which pleased Ominis. Evidently, he believed the version of events presented by Gaunt because there was no hint of suspicion in his voice. The only personal question he asked was about Ominis' overall impressions of his visit to Azkaban. Ominis, in a slightly uplifted mood, almost started providing a detailed report on how bad the weather was and how oppressive the atmosphere was there, but he stopped himself in time, just saying that London was better. Being overly talkative could have sparked unnecessary interest from his partner. With his ear tuned into the endless chatter of Damien on various topics, Ominis impatiently counted the minutes until the end of the workday. It was only after lunch that this monotonous Wednesday was diversified by a field trip to apprehend a serial prankster on Muggles. Initially, this case fell under the jurisdiction of the Improper Use of Magic Office, but when the number of incidents exceeded a dozen and capturing the mischievous wizard proved impossible, it was handed over to the Aurors. Ominis and Damien happened to be the only Aurors not on assignment when the call came in from the Ministry regarding a new incident. This time, the criminal had sent a couple of Muggles soaring above the city, but he didn't manage to escape since Ominis, approaching him under the guise of a passerby, disarmed him in an instant. Although it was not a high-profile case and the apprehension was relatively easy, it still took about four hours, and by the time Ominis and Damien returned to their office, hardly anyone from the department's staff was left.

"Mr. Gaunt, a letter was delivered for you while you were away. I placed it on your desk," the secretary's voice greeted Ominis as he walked past her desk.

For a moment, Ominis felt a rush of heat, but he stopped for just a second, politely thanked her, and continued on his way to his office. Could it be that his family's response came so quickly? He didn't expect to receive it until the end of the week at the very least. The worst-case scenario, he was prepared to visit the ancestral estate without an invitation. "But don't get too excited; perhaps the word 'no' is boldly written in huge letters," he told himself with a sly smirk. Discreetly, he tucked the letter into his desk drawer to open it later when Damien was no longer lurking in the office. Damien, on the other hand, seemed in no rush to go home today. Sipping his coffee, he examined some documents, made notes, and muttered to himself, occasionally addressing louder remarks to Ominis. Ominis struggled not to nervously tap his foot on the floor or drum his fingers on the desk.

"So, plans for the next couple of months," Damien finally announced, clearing his throat and taking another sip of long-cold coffee, "once you're done with Thisbe - and you might need more than one visit for that - we'll have to take a trip to the Scottish countryside, to Loch Ness. Some wizard periodically amuses himself by putting the Imperius Curse on Nessie. Recently, this led to the death of a Muggle, so they've labeled it a 'murder' and sent it our way. I think the investigation will be straightforward but time-consuming. But we'll visit a couple of local pubs. After that, we'll return to London, and if nothing has changed during our absence, we'll join the investigation into this series of Muggle murders and disappearances, which about six people are already working on. Either they're idiots, or it's genuinely a complex case. That's about it," Damien raised his gaze to Ominis, who nodded a couple of times. All these plans sounded to him no more interesting than the scratch of a quill on parchment. Savage, in response, just let out a quiet sigh, assuming that his partner's contemplation was mainly due to the visit to Azkaban. He was absolutely sure that something had happened there, but he couldn't say how significant the incident was or if there would be any consequences.

When Damien finally bid him farewell and left the office, Ominis swiftly pulled the letter out of the drawer, grabbed his wand, and ruthlessly tore open the yellowed, rough envelope sealed with a black wax stamp, which he hadn't even noticed at first, in his haste to hide the letter in his desk as quickly and discreetly as possible. Now he instantly recognized it; the Gaunt family still used the same seal he remembered from his childhood: a coiling snake in the shape of the letter S, replicating the appearance of Salazar Slytherin's heirloom locket, symbolizing their connection to the founder of one of Hogwarts' houses. A pretentious tastelessness that demonstrated that the Gaunt had nothing to be proud of except their lineage. Ominis pressed his lips together, feeling the shivers of disgust and childhood fear run down his spine. For a moment, he pondered whether it was worth reminding his family of his existence at all, but he remembered that he had no other options. He brought his wand close to the parchment, on which only two lines were written:

"Hello, Ominis. It was quite unexpected to receive a letter from you. We await you for dinner, and there we'll talk about everything. Your brother, Marvolo."