Cause & Effect | Ominis Gaunt Love Story

Chapter 3: Heir and the Spared

September 3rd, 1890

Tonight's supper is steak. I only know that because I've got a raw slab of meat on my face because Ominis decided to send a nasty stinging hex to the back of my leg and I tripped in front of the new Fifth year by the kitchen. My face met the floor and it wasn't a pleasant experience. Ominis and the House-Elves laughed at me. Now the girl probably thinks I can't duel nor walk properly. He only did that too because I wouldn't shut up about her.

She asked me to sneak into the Restricted Section with her. I'm curious to know what she's looking for. Speaking of restricted sections, the bloody wanker went on an adventure without me. He found his ancestors scriptorium hidden away at Hogwarts. In it, he found Salazar Slytherin's personal spell book with information on ancient artefacts. There were references to a lost relic, which, from what I can tell, grants the holder the power to reverse Dark Magic curses. I'll need to bug him about that later.

For now, I've got to convince Professor Sharp to let me have another one of his Grand Wiggenweld potions. This face needs to keep pleasing the witches. In particular, a Hufflepuff.

Lost Relic?

Dark magic?

Curses?

Stella's eyes widened at the text. This journal was the key to saving Mum. A curious thought came to her. Mum knew about this journal and likely had already read through every entry. If that's the case, then why hasn't she done something? Why hasn't Dad found it yet? Did it get destroyed? Is it still lost?

The ticking noise from the clock grated on her nerves. She wanted to keep reading, but there was a farewell party to get ready for. Her lips pressed together in a firm line.

What are you hiding, Mum?

Chapter 3: Heir and the Spared

What does one wear to someone's living funeral?

Part of her wanted to piss off Dad and Scorpius by rebelling and not attending. However, she wouldn't do something to intentionally make Mum sad. She hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. Granted telling your children you were tired of living when the opposite was true was actually a bitter pill to swallow.

But she could understand, couldn't she? If she saw her children distraught day after day, wouldn't she want to make it easier on them? Had they all been wallowing so much that the brightest witch of her generation thought death was a solution?

Stella let out an irritated noise, sitting on the edge of her bed as different dresses paraded around her room. She heard the floo chimney from the living room, announcing someone's arrival. There was a very limited amount of people who had access to her apartment 24/7. Two of them looked similar to her and the other one was bedridden.

"Little Duck." Dad knocked on the door, hesitating in the doorway.

Not glancing his way, she kept her eyes on the different dresses. "I don't follow you around everywhere anymore." Stella bit out, not hiding how irritated she was at him and her brother, "You don't have to keep calling me that."

Dad's voice was a bit sad, "May I sit?"

"You bought the apartment." She retorted, keeping the cold front regardless of how much her heart hurt to hear her Dad's voice like that, "Do whatever you'd like."