Shadows of the Past

Echoes of the Past

As I made my way to platform 9 & 3/4, a familiar ache throbbed in my head, a relentless companion only subdued by the steady supply of firewhisky I usually kept within reach. The air was thick with the scent of steam and anticipation, mingling with the pungent aroma of soot from the nearby train. Returning to Hogwarts meant leaving behind easy access to the remedy, and I knew it wouldn't be long before the nightmares returned.

Hogwarts had transformed into a desolate landscape for me, particularly after the events of fifth year. Ominis, Anne, Sebastian... their names echoed in my mind, each one a reminder of what I had lost. Thoughts of Sebastian stirred a dull ache in my heart, but I quickly banished them to the depths of my mind, pushing them away like unwanted intruders.

"The Hero of Hogwarts," they called me, but the accolades were fleeting. Despite saving lives at great personal cost, the attention faded all too quickly leaving behind an emptiness that consumed me. The noise of the bustling platform seemed to drown out my thoughts, each passing face a blur in the crowd.

And then there was Professor Fig, the only true father figure I had ever known. While my own father remained absent, lost in his own pursuits, and my mother... well, she had her own demons to wrestle with. Fig's guidance had been a beacon of light in the darkness, his wisdom and compassion shaping me in ways I could never repay.

Even in death, Fig's influence lingered, his memory a constant presence in my thoughts. Not a day went by that I didn't yearn to hear his voice, guiding me through life's tumultuous waters, reassuring me when doubt crept in and offering solace when I stumbled.

How I longed for his presence now, for the comfort of his counsel and the warmth of his support. In moments of uncertainty, I could almost hear his gentle admonitions, urging me to trust my instincts and stand firm in my convictions.

But Fig was gone, his absence a painful reminder of all that I had lost. The train thundered closer and closer, the roar of the engine drowned out the memories, offering a temporary reprieve from the weight of my grief.

Sipping from the flask tucked in my pocket, I prayed for the ache to subside, seeking solace in the numbing embrace of the fiery liquid. But my respite was short-lived as a familiar voice shattered the silence like glass.

"Father, I will not be doing that," Ominis's words sliced through the air, carrying with them an air of defiance. "I don't care if it is a Gaunt tradition; I thought I was quite clear about how I felt about those."

Ominis and his father appeared as if they were carved from marble—stern, imposing, and untouchable. Ominis, bearing an uncanny resemblance to his father, possessed the same chiselled features but lacked the piercing gaze. His presence seemed to command the attention of those around him despite his blindness. There was an intensity about him, a quiet confidence that spoke volumes. His father, a towering figure with an air of authority, seemed to cast a shadow over all who dared to approach. Clad in robes that bespoke wealth and power, he moved with an effortless grace that bespoke generations of privilege. Yet, beneath his polished exteriors, there lurked an icy reserve.

"I understand your reluctance, son," Ominis's father replied, his voice smooth yet carrying an undercurrent of authority. "But there are matters of tradition and honour at stake here. You must consider the reputation of our family."

"But what about my own beliefs?" Ominis countered, his tone firm. "I refuse to participate in something that goes against everything I stand for."

With a heavy sigh, I pulled my hood lower, obscuring my features from view as the train rattled closer to us. Each word uttered by Ominis felt like a dagger to my heart, reopening wounds I had fought so hard to heal. As the weight of his words settled upon me, I found myself retreating further into the shadows, seeking refuge from the storm brewing within his words a stark reminder of the burdens we carried.