🔞🦊Zorro Del Toro🦊🔞

“There was hardly any need to disgrace a fine cup of Earl Grey over mere mention of your… paramour,” Marvolo drawled, flicking his wand to remedy the mess that, truth be told, offended him more than the matter at hand. He sighed, exaggeratedly so, before restoring the teacup to its rightful place and erasing the offending spill from the carpet as though it were a trifling nuisance. “It appears you heard me quite well. That peculiar pet of yours has made his escape. Remarkable, really.” He allowed a mocking smile to play upon his lips. “I must admit, I am rather impressed—given his apparent lack of mental faculties. Perhaps he has deceived us all. Even you, little brother.”

I could scarcely believe it. Not a single wizard or witch had ever escaped that godforsaken place—or so it was thought. And yet Sebastian, of all people, had managed to flee Azkaban? Something felt amiss. Surely, he would not dare to repeat his past folly.

“Is that all you know of it? You must tell me more,” I insisted, stepping closer to Marvolo. My hands trembled with barely restrained fury, longing to seize him by the neck—to madly wring it.

“Now, now. Why such a flutter of feathers?” Marvolo chuckled, his tone maddeningly calm as he placed a hand upon my shoulder. I recoiled instinctively at the contact. “You’re trembling, dear brother. Tell me—are you afraid he’s coming for you?”

My heart plummeted at the very notion. Never once had I entertained the thought that Sebastian might escape with vengeance in his heart, seeking retribution for my betrayal in turning him in. Could it truly be possible…? No—surely not...

“Sebastian would never—!” I began, my voice faltering as a sting crept into my eyes. “He would never…”

“Oh, do come off it,” Marvolo sneered. “I wouldn’t let him deprive me of my most cherished fantasy. What sort of brother would I be if I allowed that?” With a dismissive scoff, he pressed a folded piece of parchment into my hand. “Here. I’d rather not have your unsightly tears ruining my suit.”

He paused only long enough to mutter, “This was left on our doorstep today. It’s for you.” And with a twisted smile, he turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder as he departed, “My condolences.”

The door shut with a decisive thud, leaving me in silence.

Condolences?

With shaking hands, Ominis hastily broke the seal of the parchment, his wand poised as he cast the charm to pull the inked words into his mind.

Ominis,

Please, forgive me. All I ever wanted was to protect Anne. All I ever wanted was what was best for us. I hold no resentment for the silence, for the absence of letters, for the visits that never came. I do not fault you for turning me in. I know, perhaps better than anyone, the toll this has taken upon you.

I do not wish for you to suffer on my account any longer.

You’ll find my body by the Black Lake.

The Black Lake? His...body? What—what was happening? Surely he didn't mean to… no! Such a thing could not be. It simply could not! My fingers clenched around the parchment, crushing it as tears traced paths down my face. And then, with chilling clarity, the realization struck: if Sebastian had indeed escaped, they would send the Dementors after him. They would find him. And they would…

“Damn it!” I spat, wasting no more time, apparating to the nearest point by the Lake. I would save him. This time, I would truly save him. He couldn’t slip away like this! Not after all we had endured, all we had been to one another. The memories, the laughter, the joy shared between us—I would not allow him to erase it all. I would not let him be taken. Not like this. “Please…no…”

Sebastian's POV

Surely, this wouldn’t be too painful. All I had to do was lie here and wait. It was no different from Azkaban, really. I only wished it could be swifter. The Black Lake stretched before me, as beautiful and haunting as it had been in my school days. Still and silent tonight, fogged in a biting chill that somehow seemed less oppressive now—perhaps softened by the numbness of what I had endured. Nothing could match the icy ache of losing everyone I ever cherished. This would be simpler, far gentler than facing Ominis’s look of disappointment, that quiet agony in those sparkling, teary eyes. I was certain I’d already heard his heart shatter when we had said our farewells in the headmaster’s office, his arms clinging to me as if he would never let go.

But Ominis would never have to endure such sorrow again. And at last, I would receive the punishment I deserved. I did not merit life, not after all that I had failed to protect. I had failed my uncle, my sister, my friends, my parents. And with the Dementor’s Kiss, I would be stripped of this darkness within me, even if my wand lay broken and powerless. I would become little more than a faint memory—a ghost to haunt their thoughts but never in life.

Leaving that letter behind was absolute torment. To be mere steps from Ominis—close enough to knock, close enough to cross the threshold and fall into his arms—was a temptation almost maddening. But such a reunion was no longer within my grasp, not after all I had done. The life we shared, the trust between us, lay shattered beyond repair. I knew, with agonising certainty, that I would find no welcome in his gaze. Nor from Anne, had she survived.

Yet, in that brief moment, I caught sight of him through the tall, glass window. The sight was both a gift and a curse, a vision so achingly beautiful it rooted me in place. His skin, pale as alabaster, gleamed softly beneath the golden light. He wore his finest attire, perfectly tailored to his now slender, tall frame—a frame that time had carved with subtle grace. His face, angled and sharp, bore the same familiar beauty marks on his cheeks, delicate as though painted by careful hand. Golden hair, fine as silk, was slicked back as usual and those alluring eyes were still a set of gemstones.

“Ominis…” I muttered, tears dropping onto my cheek.

But even this vision, this fleeting glance of all I yearned for, could not compel me to reach out. Instead, gripped by fear, I let the letter slip from my trembling fingers and turned away, fleeing as if the very wind urged me onward, far from the sight that both healed and broke my heart.

And now, here I lay, alone and resolved to free him from me forever. With my soul surrendered, I would no longer have the power to bring him pain. No longer would I be the burden he clung to in silent suffering. In the void I would leave behind, he could finally find happiness. At last, he would be free.

A sigh escaped me, my breath rising in the night air, ghostly white against the pitch black—pale as the moon above. I turned my gaze towards the Lake, watching as a thin sheet of ice began to form along the shore, creeping outward until the entire surface lay frozen in solemn stillness. This was it. The end I had chosen.

Tilting my head back, I took in the brilliant glow of the moon. So bright, so achingly familiar; it reminded me of Ominis’s eyes, wide and glistening, capturing light like a silvery mirror. But the sight was shattered as a shadow crossed my vision—a figure cloaked in darkness, hovering before the moon’s face. And then another. And yet another. They were here. The Dementors had come.

“I’m ready,” I whispered, my breath shallow and weak, the bitter cold already robbing me of its warmth.

The Dementors gathered close, circling like crows, hovering just above me. Then one descended, its gaping mouth drawing out the very essence of my being. At first, I could see it—a misty blur of myself slipping from my body. Another Dementor swept down, stealing even more, and slowly, steadily, the world around me faded with each kiss of oblivion until there was only darkness.

Or so I thought. Until I saw him. Ominis—smiling.

The image bloomed with a vividness I had almost forgotten. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile, truly smile. I remembered it clearly: I had just taught him Confringo, and we’d singed our eyebrows in the Undercroft while practicing that cursed spell. I’d made some jest, something so absurd it had him laughing, his smile radiant, his laughter spilling out in waves around us. I’d often wondered why that spell had held such fascination for me. Now, it was plain as day—the memory bound to it, the warmth of his smile. And here it was again, unfolding before me as though I had been swept back in time.

The memory shifted, blurring into another scene—Feldcroft. I was back in my childhood home. Ominis and I were alone; Anne was fast asleep, and Solomon was away for work. We lay side by side in my bed—a rare and precious thing. Ominis had escaped from his own home that evening, seizing a moment of rebellion to apparate to Feldcroft the moment he’d “turned in.” I remembered the surge of pride I’d felt, seeing him stand against the grip of his family, even for a single night.

We lay there, laughing and talking in the stillness, sharing secrets and dreams. I remembered our hands, the way they moved—gliding, grasping. We pressed close, warm against one another, needing no blanket to shield us from the chill. It was, I believe, the first night Ominis truly slept. I could see him now, peaceful, his breath slow and soft, and I could feel the weight of my own heart as I realized then, in that precious moment, the depth of my feelings for him. I couldn’t look away from his lips as he lay there, utterly still, and the truth of it settled over me that next morning.

Another memory surfaced—the Sorting Ceremony. I had just been placed in Slytherin, nerves prickling at me despite Anne’s reassuring presence nearby. And then, a boy sat beside me. I didn’t know him yet; I only knew of him. The name Gaunt carried a certain weight—whispered, feared. And here he was: Ominis Gaunt, their youngest, sitting quietly at my side, as silent as a mouse.

No one dared to breathe in his presence. Students stole glances, wary, as if expecting something dark or strange from him. I was no different—I half expected Parseltongue to slip from his lips the moment he spoke. But what came instead was a soft voice, timid and gentle. “Would you mind… telling me what each food item is before me?” he asked, his hand tugging slightly at my sleeve, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. It surprised me—and endeared him to me in a way I couldn’t have understood at the time. But in that moment, I unknowingly found the truest friend I would ever have.

Then came memories of comfort, tender and bittersweet, unfolding before me. After the horrors of the Scriptorium, I saw myself holding him, his grief raw from the loss of his aunt and the fright of the Unforgivable curse used against me. He was fractured then, torn, yet I held him close, wrapping him in all the love I could offer at the time.

Now, rushing forth, the memory I cherished above all others—the moment of my first confession, however clumsy it was. It was just before Anne’s curse. I had managed to sneak a few spiked Butterbeers from The Three Broomsticks under the cover of a disillusionment charm and brought them back to the Undercroft without spilling a single drop. Ominis and I had our fill that night, laughing and emptying every last mug.

In my drunkenness, I blurted out a thought that had been buried for far too long: how I’d never kissed a boy, but if I ever did, it would be him. Of course, the both of us were stunned by my suddenness. I could still remember the look in his eyes, wide and wobbling. And then, without a word, he leaned in, his lips pressing gently against mine.

The warmth of that kiss burned hotter than the Butterbeer. I melted into its sweetness, kissing him back with nothing but my longing. When Ominis pulled away, I nearly whimpered, wanting to press back into him. We said nothing of it afterward, slipping back into our usual banter, yet we both knew it had changed us. It gave hope. Hope that perhaps in the future, we could be more than what we were.

So many memories flickered before me, so vivid and consuming that I barely noticed as I drew my final breath. I didn’t feel the chill settling in, nor the tears slipping down my cheeks. The joy of those memories held me fast, but then, I was before the Dementors once more. And faintly, I heard his voice, calling out from the distance, growing nearer with each second.

“Sebastian!” he cried.

The sound felt so real, so achingly real. I closed my eyes, letting go, feeling the pull as my soul began to slip from my body. I could see it then—a glow, bright and pure, emerging before me, filling the sky with such brilliance it blinded even the Dementors. And in my final moment, I saw him—Ominis. His face hovered above mine, his own tears falling, warm against my skin, his eyes shining with a light that outshone the moon, outshone even my soul’s glow.