Chapter Text
The front door squeaked on its hinges as Dorothy slipped away before the sun had fully risen. Ominis lay still on his bed, listening to her retreating footsteps until they were almost too faint to follow, before rolling to his feet and stealing from the cottage after her. She had been gone by sunrise every day for the past week only to return a couple of hours later, smelling of brine and salt water and saying nothing of her excursions. There was always something beneath the typical ocean scent too, something familiar that reminded him of the times she’d come down to breakfast in the great hall after spending hours caring for her rescued beasts.
Her unflinching determination to care for all those around her was part of what made her Dorothy , but he would admit to being left uneasy by the thought of her taking care of potentially valuable beasts when camps of poachers still had their roots down all along the Clagmar Coast.
Dorothy was headed northwest, walking along the beach. Her scent was swept away by the same salted breeze that hid her footsteps from his hearing, and Ominis relied on his wand to track her. Admittedly, it wasn’t the best terrain for a blind person, even assisted by magic, to navigate alone for the first time, but he made do. It was another ten minutes before she clambered over a boulder and headed inland.
As he slid down the other side of the boulder, he became suddenly aware of a tremendous magical beast. It was certainly larger than a Hippogriff, larger than any animal around Hogwarts, and his breath caught in his throat. He did not need the use of his eyes to know that this beast was more dangerous than any Dorothy kept in her vivariums. The beach trembled beneath powerful limbs as it walked in their direction.
“Ominis, come here,” Dorothy said from close by, and he jumped as her warm fingers brushed his shoulder.
He hadn’t felt her approach. “Dotty,” he murmured, sucking in a sharp breath. An apology leapt to the tip of his tongue. “I–”
“There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Her hand slipped down his arm until her fingers encircled his wrist. The creature had paced closer. It huffed, and Ominis felt his hair get swept back by a gale of fishy smelling breath. Dorothy raised his hand. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “He’s a sweetheart.”
The first touch of rough skin against his fingertips had him recoiling, but Dorthy guided his hand back and pressed his palm flat against what Ominis assumed was the beast’s brow. It was not unlike petting one of the rough slabs of stone populating their beach.
“What is it?” he asked, breathless.
“A Graphorn,” Dorothy answered casually, and Ominis had to fight back against the instinct to flinch again. “I met him as part of the final Keeper trial,” she explained. “The locals call him the Lord of the Shore and I’ve taken to calling his mate Lady. They’re expecting, so I’ve been coming down here in the mornings to put up some warding and- and to think.”
And with that single stutter, the near-extinct, blindingly valuable magical beast before him was no longer the object of his attention. He withdrew his hand, and Dorothy let him. The Graphorn snorted once, and then took off back towards the bluffs, presumably to where his den and pregnant mate were hidden.
“And what have you been using that overly large brain of yours to think so much about?” he asked, keeping his tone light. She didn’t answer right away and the silence was fraught with tension. Ominis reached out and cupped her cheek. “Dotty?”
“There’s… something I never mentioned to you about the Keepers and my ancient magic,” she finally whispered. “Something potentially dangerous and- and dark.”
Without thinking, he drew away his hand–Sebastian’s betrayal too fresh in his mind. Dorothy’s entire being yearned towards him, but she held herself back, for which Ominis was grateful. He just needed a second to breathe. To remind himself that he trusted her. “What are you saying?” he asked, fighting to keep his tone even.
“It’s to do with Anne– I know! I know how that sounds!” she said, voice tinged with desperation when he stumbled even further away. “But Ominis, I swear , if when I tell you my thoughts you say it's too dangerous, I’ll stop and won’t think about it ever again. I trust you to keep me right.”
He sucked in a shuddering breath. This was Dorothy. A small voice at the back of his mind whispered, Yes, and it was Sebastian . He silenced it. “I’m listening,” he said curtly.
“There was another witch like me, years back. Isadora. It was her repository beneath the school. The magic she was performing–” Ominis could sense Dorothy’s shudder. “She would–she’d take away people’s pain and consume the power. It was sick, Ominis, and she was using it on her own students. She was killed in a fight with the other Keepers. She’d gone mad.”
“Why would you think about going anywhere near that kind of magic!” he snapped.
“What Isadora did was wrong. I agree, but I can’t get it out of my head, Ominis,” she said, voice now laden with tears. “Because I can’t help but think–it’s different with Anne. That I could do it differently. Better.”
Ominis shook his head. “Dorothy…”
She plowed over his mounting anger. “I know Anne is dying. The last letter you received from her–you were heartbroken. But, listen, Ominis, because I can’t help but think that Isadora wasn’t entirely wrong. Think about it!” Dorothy’s speech picked up in speed and volume, almost bordering on manic. “Isadora was trying to remove the natural pain caused by emotions. Anne is cursed. I wouldn’t be taking out anything that didn’t belong there to begin with. It’d be like lancing a boil. And I’ve been thinking too, about the nature of a curse. I wouldn’t have to store it anywhere. I would just let it wither away without a host to cling to. I could free Anne from her pain! She could come back to Hogwarts and- and live again.”
His gut reaction was to tell her no . This was too dangerous. They’d gone down this path before. He wanted to tell her, forget everything, forget it ever even existed , but the words got caught in his throat. Overhead, a gull cried and he tilted his cheeks back towards the sky, if only to feel the whisper of sun on his skin.
Apparently he had taken too long to respond. “No, of course, you’re right,” Dorothy murmured. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I–I’m a witch of my word. I won’t spend a single second more–”
“It has merit,” Ominis said.
“It–what?” she stuttered out, clearly caught by surprise.
“It has merit,” he repeated slowly. “Do not mistake me. I reserve the right to withdraw my blessing at any moment, but your logic is sound. Or at least, sounder than Isadora’s from what I can gather.” He huffed. “Lancing a boil, indeed. I’d like for you to say that directly to the curse specialists at Saint Mungos.”
Her fingers brushed against his, and he turned his wrist so his palm was face up. Immediately, she took his hand. “I know that I’ve talked you into things you’ve come to regret before and I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you. This kind of magic scares me. What Isadora became scares me witless. I don’t know if I trust myself to think clearly about this—not when it could save a life. But I trust you. So please, think it over carefully. Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear.”
Any resentment he’d had since she’d said the words dark and dangerous withered like Devil’s Snare in the sun. “I will continue to think it over,” he promised. Though he knew, based on Anne's letter, he could not dally on it for long.
She breathed out a sigh of relief, and the tension between them dispersed. After a long moment of silence, she whispered, “I wish Professor Fig was here. I miss him.”
Ominis stooped down and pressed his lips to the top of Dorothy’s head. Her soft curls smelled of the ocean and her hair product and he knew if someone held a bottle of amortentia beneath his nose right then, there would be little chance he’d even notice. “He’d be proud. He was proud, until the very end,” he murmured. “Come. Let’s put this conversation to rest for the morning. There are better ways to wile away such a lovely Saturday.”
“Like combing the beach for sea glass?”
“Like combing the beach for sea glass,” he repeated, feeling fondness swell in his heart until it was fit to burst.
They started the journey back to the cottage, to the place Ominis was quickly learning to call his home, so long as it was shared with the blossoming young witch beside him. As they strolled hand in hand up the beach, Dorothy’s babbling about how excited she was for Lady and Lord’s calf to be born filled the space between them. There would be time, later, for daring heroics and feats of amazing magic. For now, Ominis would hold his beloved’s hand and forget about anything that wasn’t her soft skin and gentle voice.
~
Anne flooed to the cottage the following Sunday. She was far worse than she’d been when he’d last been in her company. Air rattled in and out of her lungs, and when they shared a quick embrace, he could smell the sickly, cloying scent of valerian root on her robes–she’d likely been using a mild sleeping draught to get any respite from the curse. From her letter, he knew her pain was now a constant companion as opposed to a sporadic visitor.
“Ominis. It is good to see you,” she said.
Even her voice was weak, and he swallowed thickly. “Thank you for making the trip,” he replied, trying to calm his galloping heart. She was so thin. There were times he knew his lack of sight was a blessing. “As I said in my letter, we have a proposition for you.”
“Please, take a seat,” Dorothy rushed to add. “I can put up some tea.”
He heard the familiar din of Dorothy in the kitchen: the water filling the kettle, the snick of the burner, the clinking of their nice tea set. Something settled inside of him instinctively when she popped the top off the tin of his favorite tea and the comforting scent of chamomile washed over him. With renewed strength, he turned in the direction he knew Anne was sitting.
“To start, please know we will do nothing without your express permission,” he said.
“Ominis, I am far too tired to deal with this cloak and dagger nonsense. Please, I beg, just get straight to the point.”
He ducked his head. “You’re right. Apologies, Anne. Dotty, love, perhaps it’d be best if you spoke. It is your idea after all.”
Dorothy returned to his side. She pressed a warm cup of tea into his hands, touch lingering, and then cleared her throat. “I have a theory that it might be possible for me to remove the curse from your body, Anne, using my ancient magic. It would not be without risk, and I should warn you, the last person who tried something similar to this… well, it’s a bit of a long story, but–”
Anne’s teacup clattered in its saucer as she set it down with too much force. “I’ve made peace with my death,” she said with an air of finality. “Dorothy, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I can see how close you are with Ominis, and I’m sure, in a different life, we could have been friends, sisters even, but I cannot have another person travel down the road of dark magic in a futile attempt to cure me.”
“It's not dark magic,” Dorothy said firmly. “Ancient magic–it’s difficult to explain, but it is neither dark nor light, it simply is. I know you have been burned by hope in the past, but, I wouldn’t have had Ominis write you if we thought it was hopeless, please.”
Anne’s hesitance was palpable. “What happened before, with this person you spoke of.”
And so, Dorothy retold Isadora’s sorry tale. She did not spare the gory details. The last thing either of them wanted to do was mislead Anne. Ominis sipped his tea, but it settled in his stomach like a stone. For a week, they’d been having theoretical discussions about what this procedure might look like, and Ominis had dared to hope.
“I worry, this curse has been a part of you for so long, it might be too dangerous to attempt to remove, but I wouldn’t know that until I at least looked,” Dorothy finished. She’d been speaking in what Ominis liked to teasingly call her ‘professor voice’. The ghost of Professor Fig lived in the cadence of her words as she spoke of something she was knowledgeable about. Theory of Magic always had been a favorite class of Ominis’s.
“Dorothy, has anyone ever told you that you could sell a Nifler his own gold?” Anne said after a beat of silence.
“Not quite in those terms,” Dorothy replied. “Please, don’t feel pressured.”
Their tea was long gone, but Ominis listened intently as Anne fidgeted with her cup anyway. Her nails tapped a staccato beat against the porcelain. “Okay,” she whispered, and Ominis felt lightheaded. Only Dorothy’s hand in his own tethered him to the moment. “I give you my permission to look. I–I trust your judgment, and Ominis’s. What do you need me to do?”
Dorothy squeezed his fingers and then stood. “Simply lie back.”
There was a bit of shuffling, and then he heard Dorothy take several deep breaths. She’d have to use her wand for this, but Ominis was confident it would not appear as an underage use of magic. This was an inert use of her wand, such as someone removing a memory for a pensieve. A second later, Anne breathed in sharply.
“Relax,” Dorthy murmured. She sounded in deep concentration. Ominis imagined her brow was puckered in the way it got when she read about ancient runes. He’d spent many nights with her head cradled in his lap, smoothing out the focus lines on her soft skin.
At her command, Anne breathed out shakily. “Sorry. It caught me by surprise.”
“What does it feel like?” Ominis could not help but ask.
“...warm,” Anne whispered. “Ancient. Alive.”
She said no more, and Ominis did not press. They lapsed into silence. Minutes ticked by before Dorothy spoke up, almost in a trance. “Oh, Anne.”
“Dorothy?” Ominis prompted.
“It has her magic in a stranglehold. It–It’s like it's parasitic. I’ve never… I wonder-”
Whatever she’d done caused Anne to gasp. Ominis was on his feet before he could even think. The sound hadn’t been pained, but he had to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from doing anything rash anyway. “Dorothy!” he snapped without meaning to. “I thought we agreed you’d just look!”
“Sorry,” she rushed to say. Her voice was strained. “All I did was brush against it. It’s very receptive. I think–I think I could get it to latch onto my magic and let go of Anne if I–Anne, might I try something?”
Ominis’s ears were ringing. He barely heard Anne as she responded, “You may.”
“Dorothy,” he rasped out. “Please be careful.”
“I am,” she said confidently.
Another frightfully long moment passed. What Ominis wouldn’t do to see what was happening. All he had to go on was the labored sound of Anne’s breathing.
“I’ve got it!” Dorothy suddenly exclaimed.
It was hard to explain what happened in the next moment. Ominis had only witnessed Dorothy wield her ancient magic once, but it had been, for lack of better word, blinding. It was like his magic, which helped give him a sense of the world around him, was briefly overwhelmed by the raw splendor of Dorothy's command of a higher power. He found himself blinking, as if trying to clear away spots, when Dorothy’s magic flared around them. He heard her cry out in surprise, heard Anne gasp again, and then it was over.
Anne began crying.
“Anne!” Dorothy said, sounding distraught. A familiar warmth stumbled back into Omnisis' chest, and he steadied her. She must have stood up too fast. “What’s wrong?!”
“Nothing!” Anne sobbed. “It’s gone. The pain. It’s gone!”
Ominis’s knees went weak, and Dorothy’s arm quickly wrapped around his waist and took his weight, returning his earlier favor. He found himself being lowered back into his seat, and he clung to Dorothy like a lost child.
She’d done it.
She’d done it.
Still disoriented, Ominis reached out blindly. He found Dorothy’s shoulder and felt his way up to her jaw. Dorothy squeaked as he grabbed her chin between his thumb and pointer and tilted her head back. Then, his lips were on hers, hungry and bruising, and he tasted the salt of her relieved tears. “My love, you are amazing,” he gasped out when he finally managed to break away.
“Shut up!” She captured him in an even fiercer kiss than the one previous.
They were interrupted by a tired giggle, and Ominis felt heat rush to his cheeks when he remembered Anne was present. “Don’t stop on my account,” she said and, already, she sounded stronger. “One thing, though. What have you two lovebirds got to eat? I’m starved.”
It had been a long time since Ominis felt so light. Whatever else happened in the future, he’d have the girl he loved as a sister and the witch who owned his heart, by his side. If, later in the evening, during their cobbled together celebratory feast, Ominis sought out a the warm precense of an old friend and found him conspicuously absent, that was a problem for another day. For now, he was at peace.