Ominis and Difficult Pages

The hotel operated by Anne Saroo was called Federot — a name that, like the building itself, stood apart from the rest of the village.

Unlike the surrounding homes with their Nordic stonework and rustic silhouettes, Federot had an unmistakably English charm to it.

Anne led Vizet, Luna, and Xenophilius through the front doors, where they were immediately welcomed by a wash of warm, golden light.

The interior only deepened the impression: magical oil paintings adorned the walls, each one depicting peaceful scenes of the English countryside — rolling hills, hay carts, and wizards tilling fields under cloudy skies.

Stepping into the main lobby, Vizet took in a broad hearth with a lively fire crackling inside, flanked by deep armchairs and softly cushioned seats. Mahogany tables and chairs lined the tall windows, inviting guests to linger over tea or reading.

For reasons he couldn't fully articulate, Vizet felt a subtle nostalgia stir within him. There was something in the air — the light, the layout, the quiet magic — that reminded him of Hogwarts.

And that impression only deepened as they were led to their guest rooms.

The sitting area outside the bedrooms resembled a miniature version of the Hogwarts Great Hall — stone walls warmed by another fireplace, and tall-backed chairs gathered around a polished oak table.

Inside, the guest room was no less charming.

A four-poster brass bed stood at the center, draped in green curtains trimmed with silver thread. Bookcases lined the far wall, and a writing desk stood beneath a window that framed the misty forest beyond.

If only the curtains were blue, Vizet mused, and embroidered with an eagle, then this would be a perfect replica of the Ravenclaw dormitory.

Xenophilius, meanwhile, looked around with a wide grin of approval.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, clapping the guide on the shoulder. "This must've taken some effort — turning the whole place into an English-style lodge?"

The guide puffed out his chest, clearly pleased. "Next time you're touring Northern Europe, remember to ask for Viking House! We always make our guests feel at home!"

He gave a courteous nod. "You take a rest for now, I'll inform Mr. Ominis. We can begin the village tour after lunch."

"Of course," Xenophilius replied cheerfully. "We'll be ready."

The guide turned to leave but paused just outside the room. He scratched his head and muttered to himself, a faint note of puzzlement in his voice.

"Strange... Last time I was here, it was still decorated in traditional Swedish style. When did it change?"

After the guide departed, Xenophilius rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming with anticipation."Just wait until Mr. Ominis arrives — then we'll finally get to track down the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Daddy is so amazing!" Luna beamed, clinging to his hand and twirling with excitement. "We're really going to see the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

She danced about the guest room, her pale hair catching the warm light of the fireplace. Her joy was as boundless as ever, infectious even — but Vizet, seated quietly at a nearby table, remained thoughtful.

Though he wore a faint smile, his eyes told another story — one of cautious unease.

The old woman he had seen on the lake — so solitary, so spectral — was none other than the owner of this very hotel.

The style of the Federot, with its unmistakable resemblance to Hogwarts, had already caught his attention. But now, that detail — paired with Anne Saroo's sudden vanishing act — no longer seemed like a coincidence. It felt… intentional.

His gaze drifted to a wall near the fireplace where a small bulletin board had been mounted. Pinned to it was a faded and slightly crumpled wanted notice issued by the Swedish Ministry of Magic.

A moving photograph dominated the poster. It depicted a cloud of black mist rising like a living thing, twisting and lashing out as it tore through buildings in its path.

Below the image, a single line of text read:

Anyone with verified information on the whereabouts of the Obscurus will be awarded one hundred gold Galleons. Please report any leads to your local Auror office.

"It's quite the incentive," Xenophilius said lightly as he pulled out a chair and sat beside Vizet. "But don't worry, we're not about to turn you in for a hundred Galleons."

He gave Vizet a conspiratorial wink.

Luna sat down across from Vizet, concern flickering in her eyes.

"Is this about what happened on the boat?" she asked gently. "You didn't look like someone who was just hot and dizzy."

"You fanned the heat away," Vizet replied with a quiet smile.

Luna was, as always, perceptive — able to sense the weight behind his silences.

After a moment's pause, he drew in a slow breath and said, "I saw a figure out on the lake. The hotel owner, Anne Saroo. She was holding white lilies... seemed like she was mourning someone. Her expression was full of sadness."

He frowned faintly, remembering the way her silhouette had blurred into the mist.

"But before I could get a good look, she vanished. I thought, maybe, I imagined it."

"Hmm…" Xenophilius tapped his chin. "Well, never mind for now. We'll head out to search for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack this afternoon — and after dinner, I'll ask around about her."

Vizet hesitated, a faint crease forming between his brows. "Mr. Lovegood... wouldn't that be a bit forward?"

"I'm the editor-in-chief of The Quibbler," Xenophilius replied with a flourish. "Uncovering unusual tales is rather my profession."

He grinned. "This place is steeped in old history. I'm sure we can dig up something curious, and if we're lucky, something printable!"

"Besides," he added with a chuckle, "you have to make sure your Galleons were well spent, don't you?"

Vizet couldn't help but smile at the logic. "Thank you, Mr. Lovegood."

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Putting aside his lingering unease about Anne Saroo, Vizet couldn't deny the calming effect of the village itself. There was something about Midgard — the stillness in the air, the warmth of the buildings, the shimmer of floating light-dust — that settled the body and soothed the mind.

After lunch, before Ominis arrived, Vizet and Luna stepped out of the hotel to take a walk along the cobbled paths. The slow stroll was meant to help with digestion, but it quickly became something more.

Only then did Vizet notice the wanted notice from the Swedish Ministry of Magic posted on a weathered board near the main path — something he had completely missed earlier, distracted as he'd been by the eerie clown-like man.

The notice fluttered gently in the breeze, its edges curled from age and moisture.

Luna, on the other hand, seemed utterly enchanted. She skipped alongside him, occasionally reaching up toward the drifting light motes. Her fingers would pass through the glowing flecks, which would then tumble lazily to the ground and dissolve.

There was no denying it — the people, the village, the soft magic in the air — everything had a dreamy, almost storybook quality to it.

As they walked, Vizet subtly activated the mental map within him. He could feel the ambient primordial magic stirring around them, thick and ancient, humming through the land like a sleeping beast.

A place this old, this magically rich, was a rare opportunity.

Naturally, he couldn't resist the chance to collect and use that magic.

While Luna drifted ahead, Vizet half-closed his eyes and began channeling the ambient magic into A Wizard's Practical Guide. Silver-blue light sank into the pages of the magical book in his mind.

At first, the reaction was promising. The pages trembled as though stirred by a gale, flipping rapidly of their own accord, and the light grew more intense.

Something powerful was about to be revealed — he could feel it.

But then… nothing.

The glow faded.

The pages stopped.

The book remained stubbornly closed, revealing no new spells.

Vizet blinked, startled.

"This is the second time," he murmured, his brow furrowing. "The first was… that overwhelming surge of magic in Diagon Alley."

When he first unlocked the Eye of Insight, it had drawn upon all the ambient primordial magic in Diagon Alley. Since then, he hadn't encountered anything that required such an immense amount — until now.

Before he could think further, he felt a warm hand rest gently on his.

"Time to go back," Luna said softly, giving his fingers a light shake. "I saw Daddy waving."

Vizet's focus snapped back into the present.

He looked toward the Federot Hotel. Standing beside Xenophilius was an old man clad in a robe trimmed with mossy green. But it wasn't the clothes that stood out — it was his eyes.

The man's gaze was strange, almost haunting: pale grey-blue, utterly unfocused, with a swirling opacity that hinted at both blindness and something deeper — chaos, perhaps.

His skin was pale and smooth, touched by time's gentle wear, but there was a quiet dignity in his posture. Despite his apparent age, he radiated a calm authority.

Raising his wand in a small, courteous salute, the old man inclined his head.

"Greetings," he said in a mild, cultured tone. "You may call me Ominis. I am the one who provided the information about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Vizet and Luna exchanged a glance, both their expressions laced with curiosity — and a hint of wariness. Together, they turned to Xenophilius, who looked equally puzzled.

Coughing lightly and adjusting his scarf, Xenophilius took a small step forward.

"You mentioned you had its horn before," he said, his voice hopeful but edged with skepticism. "Would you mind showing it to us?"

"Of course," Ominis replied with a soft smile.

He turned his head toward the hotel and called out calmly, "Anne, would you please bring the Snorkack's horn?"

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