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🌦️☄️ Wren & Wraith

Ominis x F!MC romcom-drama [M-rated, 8.6k]

"When Garreth is our only option for Operation Fuck Sheep—" "We are not calling it Operation Fuck Sheep—" "— we do not call into question his stellar reputation!" Sebastian snapped. "God, I've already done all the hard work thinking of this masterful plan, and now you want to ruin it. Do you know anything about haggling?" "I know what you're doing!" Tabitha said proudly. "A carrot and stick situation. Offer a reward for being good or threaten a punishment for being bad. So either Sebastian is really nice to him or Ominis is really mean." "I think that's just him being normal, Tabs," said Sebastian. Ominis growled.

A letter arrives, inviting Tabitha to her family's farm in Wales for Christmas. Sebastian suggests Ominis go with her, and forms a plan to smuggle him out.

Tags: humour/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon divergent, dumbass MC, hijinks and shenanigans, Sebastian TRYING to be a good wingman but Ominis gets in his own way, dramatically looking over the Great Lake, Operation Fuck Sheep, Ominis in a cassock makes Tabitha short-circuit, crumbs of Tabinis, WORM.

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47-48. A Letter for Christmas | Vermifors

A day before term broke for the holidays, whilst Ominis, Tabitha and Sebastian were scouring the library archive for the third time, a single, drawn-out caw split the silence like a call to arms.

Ominis recognised that sound. With a sigh, he placed down his stack of unread papers and reached for his wand, tucked beneath his thigh.

On cue, Tabitha shot to her feet.

"Nooooo!" she whisper-yelled. "But it's the library—"

The owl swooped for her. Ominis turned, pointed his wand.

"Arresto Momentum."

One moment it was bulleting towards her, the next it was plummeting, wings splayed but frozen. With another wand flick, cushioning the fall, the owl gently landed in the aisle.

The rest of the library resumed their quiet study. Just another day at Hogwarts.

"Oh, thank goodness." Tabitha almost flattened her face into the photo of an exploded cauldron. Disentangling herself from the seat, she knelt down to gently pry the letter from Astari's talons. "I thought for sure he was going to kill me this time!"

"It is an abnormally determined bird," Ominis mused, as Astari hopped up and took back to the air. "I take it it's for you?"

She took some time to decipher the letters. "That's my name on the top! D'you think it's my brothers again?"

"Don't leave us in suspense," Sebastian egged on. "Read it and tell us!"

Hesitantly she slipped the parchment from the envelope. It took her some time; Ominis and Sebastian read more articles in the silence until she shrieked "HUZZAH!"

"SSSHHH!" Scribner yelled from her desk.

"Sorry!" she chimed. "I think my grandparents in Wales have invited me for a few days over Christmas!" She handed the letter to Sebastian and whispered, "Is that what it says at the bottom? Nain and Taid?"

"Nine and Tide?" said Sebastian, staring at the bottom lines.

"It's Welsh for grandmother and grandfather."

He briefly skimmed it and handed it back. "That's what it says."

"Wow!" She was giddy now, kicking her feet. "Ain't heard from them in donkeys!"

"In wizard terms?" Ominis asked Sebastian.

"Not a Fizzing Whizbee."

"It's been a long time," she clarified, clutching the letter to her chest. "Haven't seen them since before I left church school. After I started working at the confectionery I didn't get to go very much. I was always helping Papa, you see, and St David's is so far away, and it's hours by train just to get to Cardiff let alone the western peninsula, and..." She seemed to wilt, and gently folded the letter up. "I can reply later. Tell them I'll be sad to miss them."

Sebastian chopped his hands outwards. "Whoa, hold the broom. Why won't you be able to go?"

"Fig's banned me from leaving, remember?"

"It's Christmas! He can't let the idea of Ranrok stop you seeing your family. If it's only for a few days, the rebellion won't even find out you've left the castle, let alone where you've gone."

"No, the professor is right," said Ominis, placing his wand to a new issue. "It's too dangerous."

It didn't halfway encompass all his fears on the matter. This – this was exactly what he worried about, what stirred that insidious bubble of panic that had been a stalwart presence this past week. At Hogwarts she was safe, cloistered in stone walls steeped in powerful magic, surrounded by teachers who could support her, protected by friends and Ominis himself. After everything that had happened, she should've known how risky it would be for her to gallivant around unchecked. And Ominis knew he wasn't the only one to share this opinion.

Sebastian grunted. "I know the old geezer is harsh, but it would be tyrannical if he objects."

"He's just protective over me," Tabitha said sheepishly. "After Miriam..."

"Would he have confined his wife too? Come on, that's not an excuse."

"You cannot seriously suggest she go, Sebastian," Ominis said, more annoyed now that clearly he didn't see the problem either. "There is always the chance that he does find out she's left the castle. Then her family is in danger too."

"Don't goblins need holidays?"

"You're missing the point."

"Do you want to see them, Tabitha?"

She squirmed. "It would be nice, since it's been so long..."

"Then you should go."

"Do you hear yourself? Ranrok wants her magic." Ominis lowered her voice. "She is not safe unless she is here."

"Hogwarts isn't a cage, Ominis."

He knew that too well. Indeed, this castle was his salvation, and it was for that reason that he would object to Tabitha leaving it for something as trite as carols and Christmas pudding.

"Don't fear, Tabs, because I've concocted a genius idea." Sebastian leant forwards, grinned with ulterior motive. "You want to see your family, Ominis wants to make sure you're safe. So why don't you let him go with you?"

"To Wales?" Ominis blurted, at the same time Tabitha squeaked, "Together?"

"SSSHHH!" Scribner yelled.

"Sorry about them, madam! Your hair is looking stunning, by the way!" Sebastian then leant his head on his hands. "I mean, okay, there's nothing to do there except fuck around with the sheep—"

"Sebastian."

"But if you go, you can keep an eye on each other. I can think of a whole plan to get you out."

"You seem to be forgetting Professor Fig in this grand scheme of yours," Ominis snipped, trying not to focus on Tabitha's reaction to the suggestion. Was it so abhorrent, for him to join her? "After what happened at Rookwood Castle, there is no chance he would allow it."

"That's why you don't tell him you're going."

"Are you mad? Do you know how much trouble I would be in?"

"I didn't say you'd tell no one. All you have to do is let Ronen know, right? He's our Head of House."

"But— I couldn't use magic," Ominis spluttered. "And how would you explain why she has a male friend with her?"

"Oh, oh!" Tabitha sat forwards. "My family thinks I go to a monastery school, right? Wales has lots of churches. What if I said you were a seminarian? A priest-in-training?"

"Do I look like a priest to you? ... No— that was rhetorical." Both Tabitha and Sebastian shut their mouths, and Ominis massaged his temple. "There is no way we would get away with it. May I remind you both I am trying to stay out of trouble? If my brothers find out I went to a Muggle area—"

They'd take him out of Hogwarts for good, Grimsley had been very clear about that. Ominis could handle detentions and near-death via Dark wizards any day, but if he was caught misbehaving, in this case severely, he would get taken back to Gaunt Manor – and he'd never be able to leave.

Tabitha watched him softly. "Ominis..."

"No, Tabitha. I am not entertaining this ludicrous idea. It is too dangerous for you. For both of us."

"But—"

"You are not putting your life at risk. I forbid it."

It took a second for the words to go through his own head. Belatedly he knew he'd said the wrong thing, and her face puffed up like a pastry in consequence. Tabitha had been angry at him before, but this – this had an entirely different dimension.

"Oh, you forbid it, do you? Are you my mama?"

"No, I—"

"My papa?"

"No—"

"Then you ain't got nowt say in what I do with myself, because I can decide what I do, and I'll be thanking yous to mind your nelly!"

"In wizard terms," Sebastian smiled oh-so-satisfied, "that means fuck you."

Tabitha got to her feet. "You're right, Sebastian. I ain't not living just because some evil goblin thinks I'm a shiny object he can nick for himself. I'm going to go to see my grandparents." She took her satchel, glared at Ominis. "Whether you like it or not."

She flounced off.

"Tabitha," said Ominis, but she kept going. "Tabitha, wait!"

"LAST WARNING!" Scribner shrieked.

"I'm very sorry!" Ominis snapped back. "I'm dealing with something!"

Five seconds later, Scribner had them bothtossed out for insubordinate tone. Literally, using Accio on their clothes. Sebastian managed to land on his feet, like a cat, but Ominis tumbled to the ground, caught off-guard both outwardly and within, thoughts too awry to care. Frantically he scrambled up to search the students milling around in Central Hall, but it was too late.

Tabitha was gone.

"Congratulations." Sebastian stuck his hands in his robes. "I gave you the easiest way in and somehow you turn it into the largest romantic fumble of the century."

Sebastian demanded Ominis find her and apologise for what he'd said, and threatened to copy his homework all of next term if he didn't. Exasperated, Ominis had followed the advice of some of the paintings to chase her to Viaduct Bridge, where she'd snuck under to the drainage canal to shield herself from the rain. Ominis climbed down; there she was, leant on the stone railing, watching the Great Lake undulate with each battering drop.

"I'm sorry," he said, deciding to open with an apology instead of a greeting. "I worded it poorly."

Her face puffed up, her bottom lip curled. It was antithetical, almost, to her person, to express such anger. Such a rare occurrence that it bore remark; it seemed even her tolerance had limits. She spun away, hair flicking in his direction, sending a whiff of that sweet soap towards him, and like a thread caught on a splinter, he drew closer and closer, unravelling slowly from within.

"I don't not want you to go," he added in a murmur, hoping at least to cool her temper. "But after everything that happened at Rookwood Castle, I worry Ranrok will be more vigilant in ensuring your capture. Or, indeed, your death."

She crossed her arms around her waist when he stepped cautiously to her side. It was mild for a rainy December, and yet bundled in her robe and layers, still Tabitha shivered.

"I get why you want me to." The pensive quality of her tone surprised him. "I know why I should."

"If he wants to possess ancient magic, or kill you for it," Ominis said, "it certainly is the safer choice."

"But I didn't ask for this." She cast a glance at him sidelong. "I don't want to be locked away in the castle. How long would I have to stay here? Until Ranrok is stopped? That could be weeks. Months."

For someone like her, who had been afforded as much freedom as her privileges allowed, and couldn't fathom what it meant to be squirrelled away, hidden like an embarrassment or a stain on the family tree, it was no wonder his ultimatum jarred her. She was carefree, jovial, optimistic. She liked enjoying life to the fullest, and she couldn't do that behind solid stone walls. Hogwarts was his sanctuary – but it wouldn't be the same for everyone, and it was ignorant of him to believe so.

"Why did it pick me?" she asked him.

"What did?"

"The magic," she said. "Is this how it normally works? Was I chosen?"

"Typically magic is inherited through blood, but... I do not know the truth in your case." He already lived what happened to those that fate chose to haunt. Would that he could ease her worries by telling her some falsehood about its positives. "Chosen, or coincidence, it doesn't matter. You're doing well so far."

Her face crumpled, and he thought for a moment maybe he'd said the wrong thing.

"You wouldn't stop me, then?" she asked. "Going to Wales?"

No, he couldn't physically hold her there. He would be no better than his family if he did.

"I would advise against it," he murmured, "but no, I wouldn't stop you."

"Then why don't you come with me?" She rocked on her heels, as if a light had parted the clouds. "It's a really nice place in the countryside, and my family is nice too. My nan makes a mean rarebit. And just think, it will be several days without Sebastian."

He snorted. "Certainly a bonus."

"So... will you?"

"Would you even want me to accompany you?" His heart braced, his tongue fell limp at the bottom of his mouth. "You sounded – not disgusted, but... displeased at the idea earlier."

She gasped. "No, that's not it at all! I mean, I was surprised, that's true, but not disgusted. I think it's a great idea! I..." she swallowed, a feeble noise, "I would want you there."

His heart pumped, a singular drumbeat that seemed to pulse through every vein in his body. Just once, and it arrested him.

He shut it down before it could dwell.

"Fig would never allow it."

"Fig doesn't have to know."

"He has already forbidden you from discussing ancient magic with me and the others," he said tersely. "Even if you were allowed this exception and I were to obtain permission from Ronen, I would be absent at mealtimes. He would notice."

Tabitha prodded her chin.

"What if you were there, though?"

Ominis furrowed his brow. "What are you suggesting?"

"Isn't there a potion that can turn you into someone else?"

"Polyjuice. God, Tabitha, where did you hear about this?"

She huffed. "I do pay attention in some of my lessons, you know."

"If you truly paid attention you would know Polyjuice is notoriously difficult to make. It takes a month to brew."

This time she grinned.

"I think I know someone who can help."

"Told you I keep the Polyjuice well stocked up," Garreth said, gesturing to the cauldron with pride. "This batch'll be ready before tomorrow."

Ominis could not believe he was entertaining the idea. Polyjuice. Him.

Or, not him. Rather, Sebastian pretending to be him. But still. His body. His face.

Pitiful light struggled into the boy's bathroom through the gunge-streaked window on the second floor. Ominis, Tabitha and Sebastian had crowded around a stall with a hastily-nailed Out of Use sign on the door. Because, naturally, each toilet fit only one occupant, it was Garreth half-knelt over the concoction, bubbling precariously over the wooden lid of the lavatory. Green smoke wafted from the surface, pungent enough to make Ominis hold his robe sleeve over his nose.

"And a small phial." Sebastian was peering around Tabitha's shoulder to scrutinise the makeshift workshop. "That will last, what? A couple of hours?"

"An hour or so. Plenty of time for you to do..." his eyes swerved between them, "whatever it is you want to do."

"Nothing nefarious," said Sebastian, making a nefarious face.

Ominis groaned. "How do we know we can trust this brew? For all we know Weasley is set to poison you."

"Not exactly good for business to kill my esteemed clients."

"Oh? Even Slytherins?"

"Especially Slytherins. No one puts more money in my pocket than you lot." He grinned, thumped Tabitha's shoulder. "And I have it on good authority that I can trust you won't rat me out to the teachers."

"We won't!" she piped. "Pinkie swear!"

Sebastian seemed disgusted at the very notion. "I may be golden, but I'm not a snitch."

"And I may be blind, but even I know you're far from golden." Ominis shoved past to sniff the cauldron. It certainly smelt like Polyjuice, but who the hell knew what Garreth was cooking up. "Dare I ask how much you're charging?"

"Depends on how much you want."

"Six phials."

"I'll do it all for a Galleon."

"A Galleon?" Ominis shot up. "Don't dare to swindle us, Weasley!"

"These ingredients are expensive! And it takes a month to brew!"

Sebastian yanked Ominis out of the stall. "We should like to confer a moment," he announced.

Garreth shrugged, and shut the door on them. Sebastian swung to face Ominis.

"When Garreth is our only option for Operation Fuck Sheep—"

"We are not calling it Operation Fuck Sheep—"

"— we do not call into question his stellar reputation!" he snapped. "God, I've already done all the hard work thinking of this masterful plan, and now you want to ruin it. Do you know anything about haggling?"

"I know what you're doing!" Tabitha said proudly. "A carrot and stick situation. Offer a reward for being good or threaten a punishment for being bad. So either Sebastian is really nice to him or Ominis is really mean."

"I think that's just him being normal, Tabs," said Sebastian.

Ominis growled. "How do you know a good price?"

"Because I'm an entrepreneur, obviously."

"And how do you intend to pay, oh wise entrepreneur? With the lint off your robe?"

"Once again, you underestimate my infallible skills of tactical manipulation."

"You know I can still hear you, right?" Garreth called over the stall door.

"I have a few Knuts saved from the matchmaking," Tabitha chirruped. She proceeded to rummage in her pocket for her purse – and a handful of wrappers fell out. "Oh... erm... never mind..."

"Well," scoffed Ominis, "I'm certainly not paying."

"It's for you." Sebastian raised a hand, halting a sharp retort. "Just let mehandle it, will you? Weasley!"

The stall door croaked open. Garreth leant on the wall, arms crossed, lips pursed.

"My co-conspirators wanted to pay you in exposure." Sebastian placed a hand to his chest, as if outraged by his own words. "As a patron of the arts, I understand that this is no real way to compensate someone for their time, energy and materials. Instead!" He foraged in his pocket, producing a handful of silver coins. "I convinced them to offer you a very generous... one, two... eight Sickles."

Garreth frowned. "A Galleon."

"Eight Sickles."

"A Galleon."

"Eight Sickles and free advice forever from Sebitha's Matchmaking Service."

"I don't need it anymore!"

"Everyone needs it! Just because you're over the initial hump doesn't mean you won't need a lady's perspective into the complicated workings of the female brain. And look how professional our matchmaker is! Say something professional, professional!"

"Establishment!" Tabitha said, chest puffed. "Housing market! Taxes!"

"See? This is a fantastic deal. You'd be a clown not to take it."

Garreth ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I really wish I could help you, Seb, but these ingredients cost way too much to absorb a discount that steep—"

"Then how about my final offer?" Sebastian smiled, all sinister motive. "Eight Sickles, free advice, and one guaranteed Outstanding homework piece from Ominis' Office of Outstanding 'Omework?"

"What?" Ominis shrilled. "I don't—"

"Done," said Garreth.

He took the coins and they shook hands like proper entrepreneurs.

Ominis facepalmed.

The handkerchief she had held out to the rain was still soaking wet.

Perfect.

Tabitha blew her nose into it one more time, for prosperity. The next obstacle in Operation Fuck Sheep was probably more significant than finding Polyjuice: getting permission from Fig to leave. If she couldn't convince him to let her go, not only would she not be able to see her family, she'd also have wasted Sebastian's Sickles and a really, really good Ominis homework for nothing. She palmed her face, added a sniffle and a hiccough for good measure.

On the other side of the desk, the professor looked endearingly perturbed at the sight. For what was an old man meant to do when a sobbing teenage girl appeared sobbing in his office sobbingly?

"Is he... old?" he asked, glancing at the sopping handkerchief. Tabitha couldn't tell if it was with concern or suspicion, so she hid it behind her back.

"He's twenty," she blubbered like never before. "So young, for a horse, and I've known Otis my whole life!"

"And your grandparents chose... Christmas, to put him down?"

Crumbs, that does sound silly! "He's sick, really sick. Won't last much longer. Yeah." She added another sniffle. "And I'd be very, very sad if I missed his last few days. Inconsolable. Weeping."

"Tabitha," he said gently, "you know I prohibited you from leaving the castle grounds."

"I know." She grasped her courage, sticking to the script Sebastian made her memorise. "But it's Christmas, professor. You know I worked really hard in the last trial. It's a few days, and Ranrok won't ever find out I've gone. And— the portraits have said nowt about what to do next, right? There ain't a new trial yet?"

"No," he confirmed. "But it's not about any of them. It's about what your magic can do."

"I can control it better now. Honest."

"But your emotions, Tabitha," he said, grimacing. "That is the core of the problem."

Her façade crumbled, just a little. Oh, she had him there. Smacked her square in the face with the problem. It had been a few days of castle arrest and already it was eating her from the inside out. Her feet itched to go. She was restless, borderless, and she didn't know how she was going to survive the rest of the year, until Fig deemed it safe for her to leave. But it wasn't just Ranrok getting in the way. It was her own ancient magic – still a capricious, savage beast inside her. Shooting lightning at Rookwood might've been a one-time thing for all she knew. What if what happened to her family happened to her grandparents? The horses? She could take out whole ancestral trees if someone told a mildly funny joke.

"To lose someone or something you love," Fig continued, piercing her thoughts, "can fill you with unimaginable grief. That feeling consumes. Can your magic withstand such an upheaval?"

And she had no doubt her grandparents would ask about her parents. What then? Could she answer their questions unfazed? What if they probed too much, and her magic reacted? The fear of it sowed seeds of doubt.

I'm scared, Ominis. She thought of it suddenly, that moment with him in the St Mungo's recovery ward. I'm scared it will happen again. Any time I'm really, really emotional.

It won't.

How do you know?

Because I know you, he'd said, and I trust you know the parameters of your magic.

Tabitha took a breath. It had been weeks since that conversation, but it felt like yesterday. She'd grown since then. She had to believe she had, if she had any hope of getting any better. For a Slytherin Ominis had offered her such golden wisdom: she had to trust herself, trust her body and trust her magic. Or else she'd never get out of here.

"I can do it, professor." She stood tall, as tall as she could make herself. "Two nights away, that's all I'm asking for. And I already promised to work hard and get better – and I will. Please."

His eyes flicked between hers, reading her, reaching deep into her soul to pluck a thread of truth. Something shifted on his face. Sadness. In the curve of his mouth, the distance in his own eyes. Maybe he was seeing Miriam in her. Wondering if Miriam would approve of what he was doing.

"Very well." Fig sat back, staring at the desk. "You may go."

She palmed the fake tears off her face, beaming. "Thank you, Professor—!"

"But we must work out the logistics," he cut across. "And you must take Floo."

"Floo? I can't Floo to my grandparents! They'd have a right fit if I popped out the fireplace!"

"It is undoubtedly not connected to the Floo Network, either." He smiled, with an edge of slyness. "However, I have a residence in Wales."

Tabitha blinked. That was new. "Since when?"

"For a long time, long before I met you. It was Miriam's favourite place to holiday." Back came his gaze, watching her with fondness, intent. "She loved the countryside very much."

She had no idea. It was strange to find kinship with someone she'd never known, but her soul curled fondly on itself to know they had something in common. She clasped her hands together.

"I'm happy she liked it. It really is a beautiful place."

"My house is located outside of Fishguard, just north of where your family live. I think you will enjoy... seeing the house as she decorated it."

"Fishguard! That's about a four-hour ride!"

"Two, I'm sure, with my carriage. I will accompany you to the town."

"Oh, erm – you don't have to come with me! I mean, will it be all right for you?" She played with her hands. "You said Miriam decorated the house, and going back there..."

"I will be fine," he said simply. "As I just said, grief is an upheaval... one we all endure in different ways."

Crumbs! "Okay." She cleared her throat. "Do you think I could... bring someone with me as well? My grandparents wouldn't mind, and you know, in case something does go wrong, I'll have someone with me?"

He made a face.

"I doubt Master Gaunt's parents would approve an excursion of that calibre."

She spluttered. "Wha—? W-Who said it was Ominis?"

"Regardless," his pursed lips told her he didn't believe that act for a second, "one person is enough trouble. I'm afraid you'll have to make do without him for a few days. Consider this a... trial run. If you can handle a few days out, I will consider allowing you to visit your parents."

Her heart lifted. "Really?"

"Really."

She squealed, even if her excitement was tempered by dread. She could go, that was great. She might even get to see her parents again. But if Ominis wasn't permitted to go with her – then they were going to have to enact the second part of Operation Fuck Sheep.

And he was really not going to like it.

As she marched to Fig's office with Sebastian at her side, Tabitha tried desperately not to vomit.

Winter had struck like a battering ram Christmas Eve morning, engulfing the castle in snow storm that glazed the walkways in ice. And yet, she'd come dressed in a thin calico skirt, a linen blouse free from embellishment and a coat with a capelet to hide the sleeves. With a carpet bag in hand, she was a perfectly acceptable girl – a Muggle girl.

Or so it seemed.

Sebastian rattled off a memorised list. "Do you have your charmed cloak?"

"Yep!"

"Wiggenweld phials?"

"Six of them!"

"Floo Powder?"

"A whole pouch!"

"Polyjuice?"

"One bottle wrapped in my scarf!"

"Rations?"

"Right next to my sweet stash!"

"Your broom?"

"At the very bottom!"

"And... spare knickers?"

"Sebastian!" She blushed. "Of course I do!"

He smirked. "Just making sure."

All those things (minus the knickers) were accessible if the clasp was twizzled three times, rather than opened at once. If Ranrok was going to attack or cut off her support, she had the means to defend herself and make it back. It was one of the conditions on which Fig would let her go. And with the Undetectable Extension charm Ominis had woven into the bag, she had no issue about fitting it all inside. She could've brought her whole wardrobe, if she really wanted (which she almost did, but Leonora was already suspicious about why she was stuffing so many bloomers into her bag that she decided it was best not).

They halted at the threshold to the Magical Theory classroom. Sebastian gave her once-over, a last check for any traces of witchiness.

"Terrifically plain. Remarkably unremarkable. You're ready." He paused. "And the jar. You absolutely have the jar?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't forget it."

"You mustn't forget it. It's the most important thing. Try not to rattle it around too much."

She patted her bag, feeling the hard ridge of it within. Still there.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"A bit." She couldn't quite meet his gaze. "What happens if I mess up the spell? Or I drop him? Or I get something else wrong?"

"You won't." He was like Ominis in that regard – harbouring no doubts in her abilities. It cheered her a little. "You know, the whole thing at Rookwood Castle, and now this. It's made me pretty certain he cares a lot about you."

She almost flinched at the swerve. "Oh. Erm." She didn't know how to respond. "I-I suppose."

"Don't act all coy now. You're inseparable."

Tabitha swallowed her apprehension about as well as she would a bitter tincture. Here she was, about to go to Wales, and Ominis about to go with her. To anyone else, Sebastian, Leonora, Charlotte, even Anne, their relationship had taken a turn into the inexplicable, something beyond the platonic enjoyment that only they could understand. Friends, partners, something else entirely maybe. But Tabitha just couldn't fathom that the ruse had slunk its way into the collective student body so well, when all she'd had to do, really, was stand next to him and tolerate his mood.

It was all Ominis' genius plan, and it had worked.

Worked so well she was starting to fall for it herself.

"How do you know he cares?"

"He's doing all this for you, isn't he?" Sebastian said, scoffing. "If that's not care, I don't know what the hell is."

But it wasn't care, not really; it was insurance she wouldn't die by Ranrok's hands. Unlikely as it was that he'd chase her to Wales, if she conked out, the whole magical world was doomed. If Ominis didn't accompany her, the probability of devastation tripled. It wasn't for her. It was for himself.

Doesn't sound like it.

Shut up, inner me, she scolded.

But this time her inner voice laughed. Don't be petty because I'm right.

She cared too. She cared a lot. But she couldn't say it, wouldn't dare to breathe it into existence because she didn't know if it was real or ruse with him anymore. Was it the truth, or her futile hopes talking?

Sebastian took a tiny step back. "Look, ah... poor timing, with you about to leave, but..." He glanced once into the classroom, noting it empty, and then her bag. Seeming to reaffirm its bag-iness, his conceit warped into a grave frown and hard brow. "I finally got through all the books."

"All the—" It hit her like bricks: the books from the Scriptorium. That was months ago now – it had taken him this long? "And... what did you find?"

"Not much on the Chamber front. I found an old diary that referencesit and its monster, confirming it exists."

"... But we already know that."

"We had hearsay before, a supposed prophecy and some snake gossip. Now we have definitive proof, and I know I'm looking in the right direction. When you're gone I'll go back. There's hundreds of books and texts in there, and this time I can have a proper look around because I won't have Ominis breathing down my neck. We'll find the truth, don't worry."

She did worry. With the trials and Rookwood Castle dominating her time and thoughts, everything to do with the Chamber had been shunted to the back of her mind – but there was no mistaking its constant presence in her head, a low simmering pot that could boil over at any moment. No matter the outcome of the Wizengamot debate on the Unforgivable Curses, the Gaunts could discover the prophecy and Ominis' fate any moment. Then all they'd have to do is use him to unleash the monster.

Going to Wales, being with her family... maybe in the grand scheme of things it was selfish. But if she didn't remember who she was fighting for then she'd never be able to fight at all.

"I have definitive proof the Chamber exists," Sebastian said. "We're close."

"We still don't know about the prophecy."

"No, but you're still talking to Andrew, right? And you're too damn nice for him to keep his mouth shut for long."

She hadn't forgotten. He was their lone link to the truth.

Unless Ominis told her himself, of course.

Every other Gaunt knows them, and you don't learn the Unforgivable Curses just to be a scholar.

"I do have some good news, though," Sebastian continued, letting her gratefully pummel Leonora's voice into smithereens. "I've been scouring the books for a cure for my sister too, as you know, and— I might have found something."

"What?" Her heart thudded with joy. "Really?"

"One of the books – from the outside it looked like a standard ancient text, but it's actually an ancient grimoire. It's— well, I won't go into details, but I think it's promising." He gave her a hard stare. "Don't tell Ominis though. You know what he thinks about evil books."

"I mean—" She winced. "It's not an evil book, is it?"

"This isn't my first duel with the Dark Arts, Tabs. I'll be fine."

He said it coolly, without a hint of self-consciousness, but still doubt tickled Tabitha's chin. This time she had to trust he could take care of himself.

"Okay. Just – please be careful about it."

"Never mind me. You" – he poked her shoulder forcefully – "don't get caught. Ominis knows what he has to do, and you just have to play along. Stick to my meticulous plan and you'll will have a great time together."

"Only if you" – she poked his shoulder, except it felt like a rock and he didn't move – "are very, extra careful about pretending to be him. You only have five phials and you can't let anyone suspect a thing. Especially Fig."

Sebastian tsked, like the very notion offended him. "I've been friends with Grunt since before first year. I have all his annoying mannerisms down to the O." He ushered her up the stairs, smirk lethal. "I'll be so charming that you'll rue the day the real one comes back."

He knocked on the door, and after a beat, Professor Fig swung it open. He was dressed in similarly plain, but outdated Muggle fashion: a squat-front tailcoat with gleaming brass buttons, pantaloons and a cravat too frilly for the occasion.

"Ah, good, you're on time." Fig checked her clothing. "Yes, very appropriate. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yep!"

"I went through the list with her," said Sebastian.

"Thank you, Master Sallow." Fig looked beyond them both. "No Master Gaunt?"

"Already said his goodbyes." Sebastian placed a hand to his heart. "It hurt him too much. He couldn't bear to watch her go. Figuratively, of course."

Fig's brow dipped. There was disbelief there. Tension.

"Mmm. All right."

"Well, Tabitha." But Sebastian flicked it off like water on his back, professing a sigh with a thick, sad timbre. "I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. Enjoy seeing your family, even if the occasion is bittersweet."

"I will. You'll stay out of trouble, won't you?"

"I always do."

Even Fig didn't seem to believe that. "If you're certain you have everything," he said, "we ought to be on our way. I'll be back here in time for dinner, and— are you crying, Master Sallow?"

"I'm sorry," Sebastian sniffled. "It's just quite a change from the norm. Tabitha has become our rock these past few months." He dabbed his jumper to the corner of his wet eyes. How on earth could he cry on command? "I mean, what will we do without our good friend for three whole days?"

"Wither to dust, by the sound of it." Fig turned his deadpan gaze to Tabitha. "If you're ready?"

She nodded, taking a breath to steady herself. "Goodbye, Sebastian."

"Goodbye, Tabitha."

Just before Fig shut the door, Sebastian gave her a wink.

Tabitha had to pretend she had no idea how to properly use the Floo powder in his drawer as she stepped into the fireplace. Fig gave her a handful and told her the command.

"Speak it clearly: House of Fig, Fishguard."

Tabitha dunked her hand. "House of Fig, Fishguard!"

The flames engulfed her. For a second she was weightless, a speck of ash in a vast unending fire. Then her feet touched uneven ground – thick, stumpy logs that rolled forwards with her weight, and Tabitha went tumbling onto a living room carpet dusted with soot. Spluttering, she braced onto her elbows as Fig swanned gracefully through the green burst without a single misstep.

"Ah, apologies." He helped her to her feet. "I forgot about those."

Discreetly Tabitha peeked into her satchel; the glass jar was intact, and the worm inside still in one piece. Wriggling in protestation, but alive.

"Right, yes," Fig said stiffly, drawing her attention back. "Here we are."

Fig's Welsh residence was a lot sparser than his London home. The only well-kept feature was the generous window sill overlooking the front lawn, a narrow strip of overgrown green surrounded by tall, wild hedge. The rest of the furniture was either old, missing a leg or covered in sheets, the carpet dulled from wine-red to brick from dust and wear.

"I'll need ten minutes or so to prepare our carriage." Fig took a cloak from an iron pole and took a step towards the hallway. "You're welcome to look around, but the cellar is off-limits."

"Ooooo, a secret cellar? What's in there?" She grinned. "Your evil dungeon?"

"It would be a far more amusing purpose, I'm certain." He gave her a firm nod. "I'll be back shortly."

The moment the front door clicked shut, Tabitha's amusement vanished. There wasn't time – not nearly enough time. Frantically she yanked the jar out, unscrewed the pocked lid and shook the worm out. It tumbled onto the carpet, and she pointed her wand.

"Revelio!"

She may have used the spell a bit too hard, as the sheer force of it propelled Ominis out of worm form so hard he smacked his face against the marble mantle of the fireplace, prompting blood to spill from his nose with a yelped "Ack!"

"Sorry, sorry!" she cried, scuttling over to him. "I just wanted to make sure you were completely de-wormed!"

"By taking my nose out?" he barked, pinching the bridge to staunch the flow. "For god's sake, Tabitha! It better not bruise or your family are going to think me some sort of hooligan! And you'll need to Scourgify, lest these damned priest robes stain!"

Tabitha had not actually seen Ominis in the disguise yet; it had been Sebastian's job to turn him into a worm that morning and secure him in the jar. But she was stunned for a moment nonetheless: the cassock, disturbingly, suited him. Panels of ink-dark cloth that flowed down his lean frame and perfectly contrasted the chiselled jaw, the cutting cheekbones. Blood crusted on his upper lip, like he'd kissed the petals of a poppy, and locks of his hair cleaved shadows over his gorgeous eyes.

Wait. Not gorgeous eyes. Normal eyes. For a normal boy.

"Today, Tabitha," he snapped, as he pressed his sleeve to his nose. "Unless you want me to bleed out?"

"R-Right, yes. I'll get you a Wiggenweld."

"No. That's your emergency supply for a Ranrok assault only."

"Here, then, you can use this." She gave him a handkerchief instead, and pointed her wand at his sleeve. "Scourgify!"

The blood vanished instantly. Ominis made a satisfied noise only once the flow from his nose healed.

"Good. At least you can do—" He paused abruptly. "Wait. Where are we?"

"Oh. Erm. It's Fig's house—"

"Fig's house? This wasn't part of the plan!"

"I just wanted to give you a second to breathe!"

"Breathe? Yes, I'm totally calm now that I'm sitting in the professor's house in damn priest garb!"

"It won't be much longer. Will you be all right?"

"For Merlin's sake, yes!" he hissed, snapping the handkerchief away. "Now change me back!"

She almost dropped her wand in her eagerness.

"Vermifors!"

In an instant he'd been reduced to a worm again, and Tabitha popped him back inside the jar, relieved. This was the core of Operation Fuck Sheep (which, really, had nothing to do with sheep), and Ominis had not been a happy hare when it was first suggested – specifically he denounced it as undignified and humiliating and outrageous to even consider the notion – but transfiguration into another animal was either too big to hide, or Tabitha wasn't confident she could cast well enough for the way back, so there had to be a compromise. Naturally this put Ominis in a foul mood, but it was either that or she went alone, so reluctantly he agreed to comply.

(She and Sebastian did have a little giggle after she cast it the first time. Tabitha called him Worminis. This was also the moment she discovered Ominis couldn't hear them in worm form, because otherwise she'd have lost at least three fingers and a bum cheek.)

Instead she secured her bag, placing it gently on the sofa, to have a proper look around. It would've been easy to assume a place as dusty and barren as this was unloved, but then Tabitha approached the mantelpiece, covered in photographs. She'd only ever seen one picture of Miriam – a square frame on Fig's desk from when they were in their thirties – but here there was the full breadth of her life with her husband on display. Forty-year-old Miriam laughing at the beach. Fifty-year-old Miriam cooing over a puppy. Twenty-year-old Miriam in a wedding dress. None of the frames matched, and some of the photos were so old, the enchantments were wearing and she was barely animate, but there was life nonetheless, tons of it, spilling off every smile and wave.

Fig looked young, too. There was Fig with hair, Fig without wrinkles, Fig dressed to the nines in coattails and corsage. Tabitha's favourite quickly became one of the small ones hanging over the door to the hallway, a snapshot of the pair of them standing outside this very house when they were just married.

Recent ones, she quickly noticed, were rare, practically absent. The only one Tabitha could find was a small, squat photo, both with gentle smiles, Miriam holding what appeared to be a diary of some sort, marked with—

A shimmering three-pronged flame... the symbol of ancient magic! It had been carved on the leather of the front cover. Which – yes, Fig had mentioned he was taking over the work of his wife, but she had no idea how in-depth it had been. Clearly he'd been in on it with her, or at least supportive of her work, if he knew the symbol used to denote it.

Popping the frame down, she decided to explore the rest of the house. She didn't want to push her luck too much, so she only gave the upstairs a cursory look – a typical low-ceiling set of bedrooms and washroom – and the kitchen on the ground floor with a plaid cloth on the dining table. The entrance to the cellar turned out to be a trapdoor tucked behind the airing cupboard too. Strange – her Revelio earlier gave her a weak sense that the door had been enchanted up to her eyeballs. Even if she wanted to peek, she couldn't. Maybe it was his mourning room, and he'd preserved a shrine to Miriam inside that no one else deserved to see.

She was staring at his younger daguerreotypes back in the living room when Fig returned.

"The carriage is ready."

Ensuring Worminis was hidden, Tabitha followed Fig to the stables around the left of the house. The air – Welsh air – was sweeter here, wafting from the thick copse of trees in the garden. She stopped the moment she saw the carriage, a small, but lacquered box with peeling paint... and two skeletal black horses attached to the reins, stomping their hooves and whickering.

"Erm," she said, pointing, "why are the unicorns dead?"

"Ah. So you can see them." Fig ushered her closer. "They're not dead unicorns. They're called Thestrals."

Despite the corpse-like appearance their skin was velvet black, their eyes two drops of onyx, fixed on her with apprehension. She took another step forwards, and swerved to avoid the flap of leathery sail-like wings. "Why do they look like death warmed up?"

"It's their normal appearance." Fig watched the creatures grimly. "They can only be perceived by people who have seen death."

Oh. George Osric. "Are they friendly?"

"Very."

She offered a hand to the closest one, and it immediately snuffled into her palm. Tabitha grinned. They were half-dead and kind of scary looking, but at the end of the day, a horse was a horse.

"So you can see them too, right?"

"I can."

Miriam. "It must be hard."

"Miriam was very fond of Thestrals herself. I'm grateful to keep them in her memory." He watched her for a moment, and with a wan smile, took her bag and placed it in the carriage. "I've charmed them so the Muggles will perceive them as regular horses. We should be all right for the journey to your grandparents' house."

The carriage interior was as thinly stripped of luxury as the house. Threadbare velvet separated her bottom from the hard wood seat, and the windows were covered in a thin film of dirt. Fig used his wand to clean them as the Thestrals set a pacey speed. Despite her slightly sore bum, the compartment was comfortable, and it didn't seem to bump too much along the road, a big clue the whole thing had been meddled with magic.

"It should take two hours. I'll leave you at Fishguard, as I'd like to spend some time there."

"Okay!"

He pulled out a book. "In the meantime—"

"Oh! What are you going to read?"

"Nothing," he said wryly. "You're going to read it for me."

Tabitha whined. "But it's the holidays, Professor!"

"Yes it is, so I'd quite like to hear you read this one." He placed it in her hand. "Off you go."

Tabitha struggled through The Old Nurse's Story by Elizabeth Gaskell, about ghosts and hauntings and mysterious locked wings of an old manor house in the crumbling moors – one of Miriam's favourites, apparently, although Tabitha didn't see the appeal – before Fig let her rest, swapping the book for an old Knut.

"What's this?" she asked, inspecting it.

"A charmed coin. If there's trouble, rub the dragon face, and I will come."

"Oh, that's cute!" Its rusted appearance belied its purpose. She stowed the coin in her pocket. "Won't need it though."

They pulled up to Fishguard Square, the area bustling with last minute Christmas shoppers. Fig fixed her one last look of apprehension, worry, a touch of sadness, before he opened the carriage door, stepping out into the weak midday sun. He turned to her.

"Nonetheless," he said wearily, "be safe, please?"

"Pinkie promise!"

Sadness flickered there – just briefly – before he shut the door, and banged on the side to let the Thestrals move on. Tabitha's heart leapt into her throat. Had she really done it? She gave it another five minutes of dead silence and gentle rocking before she yanked out the jar again.

"Okay, less power this time. Revelio!"

The spell jostled poor Ominis almost to the floor when he changed back, bleating a yelped "Eurgh!" as he smacked his cheek into the window.

"Oh, sorry!"

"Tabitha," he said, voice dangerously level as he detangled himself from himself. "Are you incapable of performing this spell sensibly?"

"I was really trying this time!" she huffed, stowing her wand. "Just be glad you're in one piece!"

He felt along his arms and head, pressed a hand to his chest.

"It seems I am." She handed him his wand, which he swished around, gathering his senses. "How far away are we?"

"About half an hour." She clapped, giddy. "Isn't it amazing? We got away with it!"

"Sebastian may be the most annoying person on the planet, but I can't argue with his results," he said grudgingly, and tugged on his robe. "Is everything about my clothing in order? Do I look appropriate?"

Tabitha soaked in his appearance again. The robes, the face, the lips curled in patient wait. That he'd agreed to do this, pretend to be a priest to acquiesce to the ridiculous lie her family believed, just showed how far he was willing to go to protect her, which was very attractive.

Wait, not attractive. Normal. Just normal. Really normal.

"Oh, yes, very appropriate! Very holy and, erm, priest-like." Face flushing, she glanced out the window, as the Fishguard town centre whittled back to trees. "You won't blow our cover, will you?"

"I've read a few passages from the Darby's translation of the Bible and Bede's The Ecclesiastical History of English People," he said, sitting upright. "I should be fine. Are you nervous?"

"You're not?"

"No."

"What if Ranrok flies into the carriage right now and chomps off my head?"

"Don't tempt fate, Tabitha." His lip quirked. "Besides, I wouldn't let him get that far. What bothers you?"

Taking an illegal Ominis was the least of her worries. She hadn't seen her grandparents in years, and they would have questions about everything. Now she had to lie to them, both of them, for the next few days, about every single element of her new life.

"What if they ask about my parents? About my brother?"

Fig warned her that grief could tug apart the delicate threads of her control – but maybe it would be a simpler sort of unravelling, one question about the fate of her family. Pretending everything was peachy keen was hard enough over letter. In person it felt practically impossible.

Ominis hummed in acknowledgement. "There's no what if, Tabitha. They will."

"And what should I do? Say?"

"I don't believe you'll have trouble with that," he said. "You managed fine for three months at school."

"Okay, but... I know, back at St Mungo's, you said I should trust myself and my magic, and I do, but..." She felt small, terrible in that moment. "Do you think they would... they'd still want me there if... if they knew what I'd done?"

He was silent for a long moment, his face unreadable stone.

"If you wish to speculate on something that will not happen, my thoughts are this: you cannot believe your family would blame you for what happened." The delivery was gentle but precise, like a dart to a pressure point. "Indeed, I doubt even your own parents would, from what you've told me. If they are anything like you, they are forgiving."

Her chest warmed, even if she couldn't forgive herself yet. "I wish I could tell them," she confessed, fiddling with her fingers. "About being a witch."

"It is your essence as a person now. You are entwined with magic." He paused. "I may never have to lie about it to my family, and I cannot fully empathise with the difficulty it poses, but it is safer if they do not know."

She knew that, but there was a crack that ran down her chest – a deep-rooted isolation in hiding part of herself away from the people she loved most. None of them knew her biggest secret and never would, and so none of them would know her, the true her, for the rest of her life. There was sorrow in that feeling, a sort of existentialism Tabitha didn't want to confront. Her family was her world – was this how it would have to be now? Shrouding parts of herself as she withered inside?

"I can't even tell one of them?"

"You could," he said, "but then you must think of how they'd respond to it. Do you think your grandparents would believe you? You can't cast magic, remember. They will have to take you on word alone."

And they wouldn't, not really. The Malain clan was a sprightly bunch, but belief in something so outlandish? Tabitha doubted it.

She gave him a thin smile. "I'm really excited to see them, but... it's going to be hard."

"It will, but I will support you," Ominis added quietly. "You're not alone."

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