Hogwarts Legacy: The Price of Power

Cryptic Clues

The Room of Requirement was the ideal place to nurse a hangover on a Sunday morning, and that's precisely what Dracaena and Ominis were doing. Aided by copious amounts of hot tea, iced water and a practically criminal amount of bacon sandwiches, by the middle of the morning, they were able to function somewhat normally, and the lighting in the Room brightened just a tad.

"Honestly," Dracaena muttered, peering blearily at a copy of Advanced Charms, Jinxes and Hexes. "Whoever thought it was appropriate to give us this amount of work needs to have their nethers cursed off."

"Mm," Ominis said, his head bent to his essay, his wand held loosely between his fingers. Dracaena tilted her head.

"You okay? Still feeling a bit rough?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm alright. I didn't really drink that much, if I'm honest," he said.

"Then what is it? You're awfully quiet."

He shook his head. "It's fine."

"Ominis," she said, warningly.

He sighed. "You and your persistence," he said, trying and failing to sound stern. He tossed his parchment to the table and leaned back.

"That letter, yesterday," he said. "My parents have outlined more of their expectations of me."

"That doesn't sound promising," Dracaena said, putting her book to one side and shuffling a little closer. "What do they want?"

He let out a humourless chuckle.

"They've been a little more explicit in their demands," he muttered. "They want me to get five Outstanding NEWTs, which, if I'm honest, isn't looking even remotely likely at the moment. Further to this, aside from moving back home and getting a well-paying job to fund them all, they..." he grimaced. "Well. I should have expected it, of course. I don't know why I'm so surprised."

"What is it?"

He laced his fingers together in his lap, his knuckles turning white. "They... well. They expect me to marry a pureblood witch. Soon."

Dracaena felt the blood drain from her face.

"They can't demand that of you," she said, her voice low. "What if you don't want to?"

"I don't," he said, simply. "But they won't accept anyone else."

"So? What's the worst they can do, disown you?"

He turned to her, his expression carefully neutral. "Dracaena, if they were willing to Crucio me at the age of eight to force me to engage in the family sport, what on earth makes you think they'll stop at that in order to keep their bloodline pure?"

Dracaena grabbed his hands, holding tight. "But... surely you get some kind of choice?"

"To a point," he muttered, his hands limp in her grasp. "Thankfully, they haven't specified a precise timeline for this particular expectation, but I rather expect they'll do the choosing for me if I don't come up with a suitable bride, and soon."

Dracaena gaped at him. "But..."

But I don't want you to, was what she wanted to say. But how could she say that? Why would she say that? Because his family were evil and twisted and she wanted what was best for him? Or was it because she couldn't bear the thought of him with someone else? She gritted her teeth, picturing a faceless woman beside him, on his arm, not knowing nor caring how to treat him like the prince he was.

"That being said," Ominis continued, his expression dour. "They did stipulate they expected me to..." he cleared his throat. "Sire children by the time I'm in my early twenties."