Chapter Text
Perdita
"You vanished for the entire night!" Sebastian's portrait sulked, draped casually against his frame. "I was genuinely worried about you!"
"Sebastian, for the hundredth time, I'm perfectly fine!" Perdita paced around her flat, hastily collecting her things for a quick change. With one hand, she flicked her wand, heating water in a bowl. Time was ticking before the briefing, and during her preparations, she had to endure Sebastian's hysteric, not-so-quiet rambling. Her mind, however, was occupied with thoughts of Ominis—his reactions, the night she spent in his bed, the near confirmation he gave when she uttered, "I know." A surge of panic and thrill danced through her at the prospect of seeing him again in a few minutes. How to navigate Ominis's presence, how to shield herself from his cutting words. It would come with time, it had to, especially if she valued her life and intended to save him.
"...I was stuck here all night, all by myself, wondering if Ominis did something to you," the portrait continued, now pacing restlessly in its frame. "I couldn't even check on you. That townhouse is so fortified, guarded against unwanted visitors, even those of the non-living variety."
Perdita paused, Sebastian's words pulling her back to reality. She looked at the portrait, genuinely surprised. "Wait, you tried?"
"OBVIOUSLY!" The portrait sighed dramatically. Perdita hushed him, extending her hand in a calming gesture.
"You'll alert the landlady downstairs, and I'll have to field her prying questions about inviting men into my apartment."
"But you do have a man in your apartment!" Sebastian countered, unable to conceal his mischievous grin.
Now, Perdita's index finger pointed accusingly at him. "Yes... yes, I do, sort of. Which reminds me..." She snatched a blanket from the nearby chair.
Realising her intentions, Sebastian began to object. "No, no, no! Not the blanket treatment! I swear I won't look; I'll even move away from the portrait," he pleaded.
Perdita remained relentless. "I need to change. You know I love you as a friend, but even in your portrait form, I'm not going to let you peek at my ankles!" With determination, she covered the portrait.
"This isn't fair, you know!" Perdita heard Seb's muffled voice behind the blanket. Portrait or not, even with complete trust, she was raised in a Muggle way. The idea of someone who wasn't courting her seeing Perdita change clothes was unfathomable. As crime-fighting partners, they were incredible together, and a true understanding of what they survived in their childhood, along with their shared history with Ominis, bonded them. People often suspected they would end up together, and sometimes she even entertained the thought of how that would work. Yet, she knew deep inside that the spark needed for a relationship in that way was given to someone else a long time ago. On Sebastian's side, after his sister's death, he became unreachable, not courting a girl for a long time. His flirty self became surface-level, and Perdita felt he had no desire to connect or fall in love with anyone. She hoped that one day her friend would open his heart again.
Perdita grew heavy as she thought, Sebastian would never even get that chance—to fall in love. Perhaps he was fortunate, as love had only ever dealt Perdita pain. Maybe Sebastian was better off without it. Regardless, her best friend never had the opportunity to decide if love was meant for him. The Obsidian stole that choice, reducing him to a mere echo.
In this sobering realisation, she gripped the basin's edge so tightly that her knuckles whitened. The Obsidian would pay for this.
In her frantic haste, she collided with the edge of her desk, where she kept Sebastian's belongings salvaged from his old London apartment. Before she could catch it, a small bottle fell and broke upon colliding with the floor. When Perdita knelt down to inspect it the liquid soaked onto her skirt and skin at an instant. And a familiar scent filled the room. It was a perfume bottle.
In reaction to the sound, Perdita heard shouting from Sebastian's portrait. Hastily, she assured him everything was alright and cleaned it up with a spell. Time was of the essence; however, the scent persisted. She knew this one—it was Sebastian's, though he never wore it daily. With a hint of smoke and leather, the woody scent stayed on her skin, transforming into a sweet but spicy aroma, like being around tobacco and rum, with a hint of chocolate. Mindful not to lose herself in memories, she cast the cleaning spell again. No drop or shard remained, yet the perfume lingered.
Perdita uncovered Sebastian's portrait. "Did you magically enhance your perfume?"
The portrait blinked twice, then smiled mischievously. "Oh, so that was the sound. That bottle was so expensive; I'm hurt you couldn't take better care of it."
Perdita had no time for this. "Was it enhanced or not?"
"Of course, it's magical. The scent will be there the whole day, fresh as if it were sprayed a moment ago." He sounded rather amused.
Would it be so difficult for her to have an average day? With the Obsidian loose and Ominis presumably cursed, she doubted a peaceful day would be granted to her anytime soon.
"Marvellous." Then, with Sebastian's perfume still gracing her aura, she apparated away.
Perdita was always praised for her apparition skill. She never mixed up her destinations nor made mistakes upon arriving.
Not today. Her disheveled mind left her landing a few meters away from the designated apparition area on the Aurors' floor in the Ministry of Magic. She knocked Abbots' coffee from her hand upon landing and had to reach for her repertoire of cloth-cleaning spells. Again.
"Merlin, I hope I didn't burn you." Perdita reached out for Evelyn's arm.
"I'm all right, no worries," said Evelyn. "But look at you, did you have a fun night?" She winked and playfully elbowed her.
Perdita must have looked horrified, prompting Evelyn to reassure her that she wouldn't spread the news. Damn perfume. Damn facial expression. Obviously, her "accusation" was not entirely baseless. She did spend the night away in a man's bed. But not in the way Evelyn Abbot would ever imagine. Even in the wizarding world, where romantic rules were less strict, this would be scandalous.
"That's not what..." Then the words caught in her throat as Perdita saw Ominis standing by Sebastian's old desk—pristine, in a fashionable grey suit, with every hair on top of his head perfectly groomed.
It was as if he'd never been drunk, battered, and broken just an hour ago. Pausing for a moment, Perdita got caught in the face she once knew so well. Only Ominis's dark circles around his eyes showed any sign of what happened yesterday. He held his wand high, checking his surroundings, looking alert. Blinky must have returned his wand, as Perdita had made the house-elf swear not to do so until she was at a safe distance. If Ominis truly was under the curse, she had to take every precaution around him.
With a deep breath, she approached him. Perdita was halfway across the room when his face jerked toward her direction. Despite his blindness, Ominis used to recognise her steps from a crowd of people. Was this still true?
Leaning on the table, not bothering to greet him, they were inches away when Ominis flinched.
"Next time, think twice when you assault someone's olfactory senses like that. And I don't appreciate someone like you barking orders to be here thirty minutes sharp when they themselves don't arrive on time," Ominis huffed.
Perdita wondered if these types of mockeries were specifically instructed by Marvolo or if he gave vague commands to Ominis on how to behave. It was better to play along for a while and wait for another sign of his resistance. Meanwhile, she needed to figure out how to break this wretched curse. Ironically, the best way would have been to find Marvolo wherever he was and end him. Merlin, she ached to, but she could never hurt anyone like that. No, it was something Sebastian would have done in a heartbeat.
"Please, Rosier isn't even in sight. That man is as sharp as an unwound pocket watch."
As the office door swung open, Perdita laid eyes on the reason for their gathering. Philip Rosier, with all the righteous confidence his family lineage granted him, strode into the spacious office floor. His deep purple robe exuded care for the excellence of the cloth maker, though the embroidery was a bit much for Perdita's taste. The man didn't bother to remove his top hat, a customary and polite gesture indoors. Instead, he nonchalantly touched his perfectly groomed goatee while surveying the room. His wand-holding hand gestured to one of his lackeys, instructing them to prepare a seat for him. The wand moved in a way that made the rich golden handle almost sparkle in the ceiling light.
Dimswale stepped next to Perdita, leaning in with a whisper, "I am here for the show."
His tone was playful, but the way the curse breaker clenched his jaw indicated he was not at ease with the situation, perhaps because he failed to identify most of the curses used on the victim. A strange lapse for someone who had worked in many countries and seen numerous crimes. However, the Obsidian killer was a unique case. Perdita and Ominis could only identify a few spells because of Gaunt's grimoire, containing centuries of well-guarded secrets.
"Bet he doesn't remember the names of any of the Aurors here," Perdita decided to play along.
"Five Galleons that he at least remembers Burrows' name," Dimswale replied.
No chance for that dumb twat. "Ten that he doesn't," Perdita confidently replied, though losing ten Galleons would leave a bad taste in her mouth.
A click of the tongue from Ominis indicated that he didn't appreciate the game, yet said nothing to stop it.
Burrow came into view to greet his boss. Rosier grimaced as he looked around, "This place is more crowded than I remembered."
Not that he came here in a million years, Perdita thought.
"You summoned everyone here, sir," Burrow replied calmly, but his slightly reddening ears indicated that his temper was rising.
"Only those who work on the Obsidian case," Rosier countered.
"Sir," Burrow emphasised. "Every soul in this office is tasked to solve the Obsidian case."
Rosier let out a surprised ha. "Good, good, it is a top priority. Tell me, are there any suspects yet?"
The fake smile froze on Burrow's face. "Not yet."
An unsatisfactory grimace formed on Rosier's lips, "Barlowe! How is it possible that wretched killer has been on the hunt for months now? What am I going to report to the Minister?" Rosier shouted so much he was practically spitting in Burrow's face. But he did not remember Burrow's name. And worst of all, Burrow didn't think it would be wise to mention the suspicion about a pureblood killer? Probably it would anger his boss even more because of the accusation.
"We do everything we can, sir," Burrow replied. Perdita made her report three days ago, obviously leaving out the most important fact about the Gaunt's family 'book', but she still created a good enough lie to make it believable. But the way his boss was defensive around Rosier, Perdita guessed that he didn't want to test the her theory against his boss narrow mind. Not when barely anyone from the office could pride themselves with the kind of bloodline Rosier thought worthy of even batting an eye.
Rosier wasted no time launching into a heated argument with Burrow right in front of everyone.
Perdita felt the cool touch of a coin in her palm—payment. "I should have known," Dimswale whispered. "I'll vanish before Rosier blows. If anyone asks, I've got the dragon flu." With his elegant blue robe blending into the crowd of aurors, he disappeared.
Coward. Crossing her arms, Perdita was more bothered about the case than the office politics. She prepared to speak up, and if Burrow didn't, then she would. It was time for this investigation to take the right turn. She pushed away from the desk, stepping forward, but a hand gently grabbed her arm.
It was Ominis. He simply shook his head. The tension in Perdita's muscles eased, ready to free herself, when Abott's voice broke the argument.
"Excuse me, sir. I might have something to go on."
Rosier adjusted his top hat, measuring the young auror. His eyes glinted with recognition. "Ah, you're an Abott, right?"
Evelyn nodded shyly. She wasn't one to proudly announce her family's privileges.
"Finally," Rosier glanced at Burrow disapprovingly, "there are some decent people in this office. Out with it," he gestured toward Abott.
"At his last kill, The Obsidian left a postcard, and I asked the MFC team to try a new method, looking for fingerprints. They found one. Since we don't touch anything, and the MFCs handle every piece of evidence by wand only, it's highly probable that these prints belong to the Obsidian."
That was a really smart move from Evelyn, Perdita thought. Even she, a muggle-born, was sometimes blinded to the convenience of magic. Thinking outside that magical box hadn't crossed her mind.
Rosier blinked twice, training his brain to absorb all the information. "Brilliant. Is this some wizard invention I haven't heard of before?"
Evelyn shook her head. "No, it's actually a Muggle thing. They invented it, and it got standardised by Muggle police in the last few years."
Now, Rosier's face contorted. Obviously, he would not abide by such a stain on wizardkind. "Excuse me? You think some Muggle invention would help us solve the Obsidian case? That Obsidian who led you by the nose for months now?"
Evelyn stood rooted to the ground, clearly unused to people talking to her in that tone. Her shoulders shook slightly. Damn it, Rosier. She had only been with us for the past year, new but also smart and a very good detective. He shouldn't have scared her like that. Perdita's muscles tensed as she looked at her boss. Burrow should defend Abott right now. Even Rosier looked at the leader of the Aurors' office expectantly, but he just held the back of his head hesitantly. "Well, I didn't know about this new development either," he muttered.
Enough was enough. Perdita walked up to Evelyn's defence. "Actually, she might be onto something. Yes, the Obsidian is clearly a brilliant mind, thinking of every magical possibility. But maybe this killer overlooked the things he wasn't expecting us to investigate. Like a simple fingerprint. How ironic if this would be his downfall, right, boss?" She looked at Burrow in a way indicating him to play along.
Burrow muffled a yes, and Abott nodded, saying she thought exactly the same. But Rosier narrowed his eyes, looking Perdita up and down, measuring her.
"Maybe," he settled with his answer. "And you are?"
"Perdita Ashcroft," she said plainly, knowing full well his reaction.
"Ashcroft," Rosier tasted her surname on his tongue like poison. "I'm not familiar with the surname."
Unexpectedly, before Perdita could offer her commentary, Ominis's voice resonated from behind.
"It's likely because my name overshadows hers," Ominis stepped assertively forward. "I've been assigned to advise the ministry in this investigation, and she is under my charge."
Perdita's palm clenched into a fist. His charge? He wasn't even an official Auror. Under different circumstances, Ominis would have faced her unfiltered words. Yet, after a moment of collected breaths, Perdita realised the alterior motive behind his interference.
Rosier emitted an excited chuckle. "Oh, Gaunt, a familiar face indeed. I wasn't expecting you today; the summoning was meant solely for the Aurors, you know." And he winked. Perdita's jaw dropped. Did he not realise that Ominis was blind, or was he intentionally disregarding it for appearances? Perhaps a bit of both. Every action from this wizard sent shivers down Perdita's spine. She hadn't anticipated Rosier to be such a bootlicker. Apparently, the Gaunt name carried substantial weight in such circles.
"Yes," Ominis concurred. "Some busybody insisted on my presence, likely aware that I had already immersed myself in this case. I can assure you, indeed, that I can provide a perspective that perhaps no other regular Auror can."
Rosier needed no further invitation to suggest a departure. "Brilliant! Perhaps we can delve into the details over tea. You know, the newly widowed Mrs. Hobbhouse sends her regards. She offered some insightful suggestions about the case, and I'd also love to hear about your investment strategy. I've heard excellent things about investing in the Floo network expansion; it's a promising idea right now..." He seized Ominis by the shoulder, effortlessly leading him out of the office.
From that moment on, Rosier completely disregarded everyone else in the room, especially Perdita. How audacious, yet oddly reassuring. She could have argued about Ominis's intervention, but truthfully, she felt a twinge of happiness that he had distracted Rosier.
As the door closed, everyone left behind collectively exhaled in relief. The profound silence gradually gave way to muted discussions. Finally, the entire office could escape the clutches of Rosier's nonsense and return to what truly mattered — unraveling the mystery of the Obsidian killer.
And that meant confronting the unresolved match with Burrow. Storming towards him, Perdita didn't conceal her disappointment or the gnawing sense of loss of respect for her boss.
"You should have had our back," Perdita confronted him, pointing her shaky hand at Burrow. Her boss stood uncomfortably, smoothing his robe as if the wrinkles could vanish under his touch.
"Ashcroft, there was nothing I could..."
"Of course, there was!" Perdita shot back. "Abott made a valid point; it shouldn't matter that it's a Muggle invention. If it works, if it aids us in finding the killer, we should seize every opportunity. Not to mention the report I submitted to you days ago. Did you even read it?"
She knew she had crossed a line, risking her job, but Perdita had moved beyond caring about such things. She crossed that threshold when Sebastian died. Now, all that remained was finding the killer. If it cost her the job, so be it.
"Calm yourself. Of course, I've read it. And I find it baseless. If you can give me foolproof information about why we should look into the pure-blood families, especially poking around the family heritage grimoires, then I am all ears. But I won't take this kind of step without it. You have to understand what you are asking." Burrow continued his words whispering. "These families hold a lot of power Ashcroft, they can ruin people who are in their way. I cannot risk my and the whole office reputation based on your superstition. Do you understand? That I am responsible for people here?"
Perdita nodded. But she couldn't share anything more. That would endanger Ominis. She has to continue to search in this direction alone.
"Sir, but what about the fingerprints.." Perdita asked.
Burrow waved his hand, "Fine, Abott can look into it for all I care, but if I see a headline in the Prophet of the Aurors using muggle detective methods, because they are desperate, it will be on you, understood?"
"Loud and clear, boss." Her face emitted no emotion, like she was carved out of stone. Inside Perdita was screaming of anger. She jolted out of the office finding somewhere peaceful to be. She heard knocks of small heeled boots on the marble floor behind her in a hurry. Abbot grabbed her arm.
"Perdy, I just wanna say thank you." She said it between breaths. Perdita turned to her, her kind heart shaped face showed gratitude and a bit of fear still. In Perdita thunders of emotion still raged and she was not prepared to answer calmly.
"You had a good hunch. That idiot is failed to see it, because everything brilliant apparently could only come from pure bloods?" She was shaking, and had to hold back not to yell, because these halls had ears and not to mention echoes.
Evelyn's brown eyes gently closed, and Perdita instantly recognised her. "I didn't mean to..."
Her hand lingered on Perdita's arm, offering a reassuring squeeze. "I know. It's time for things to change." With those words, she swiftly departed.
Perdita found herself standing alone in the quiet hallways, caught in the turbulence of her thoughts. Aimlessly, she began to move, seeking refuge. Her journey led her to the MFCs office, where she ventured into the so-called capsule room—a dimly lit space where the MaTrace Rewind capsules were kept. Here, aurors could activate the capsules in the middle of the room, allowing them to observe the crime scenes recorded by the MFCs from a distance. While visiting crime scenes in person offered a more detailed view, strict wizarding laws concerning Muggles often limited such endeavors. This room served as the second-best and safest option.
Perdita absentmindedly selected one of the Obsidian capsules, reading the inscription: Penelope Parkinson, The National Gallery. Placing the capsule in the room's centre, her wand's lumos was the only visible source of light. With a flick, she activated it.
The gallery's shadowy, hollow echo materialised—a faint silhouette of a body folded into an unnatural sitting position, the victim's face turned away, and, inevitably, a message written on the floor in blood.
"Nova aetas venit, et peccata tua non debent eam maculare."
In translation, it conveyed, "A new era has come, and your sins must not stain it."
Perdita had witnessed this scene countless times. Hours upon hours were spent in this room, meticulously dissecting every detail. Yet, her mind craved solace, and her sanctuary lay in work—assessing, organising. So, once again, she found herself here. Parkinson was one of the initial victims, the third to be exact. A cousin to Arabella, she vividly recalled her shocked expression at the crime scene.
The body, though not severely mutilated, hinted at the escalating gruesomeness of the killings. It seemed the Obsidian responsible was still testing their capabilities. However, the Latin message and the inclusion of famous Muggle landmarks remained consistent.
Despite scrutinising every detail repeatedly, Perdita unearthed nothing new. Unwilling to leave just yet, she shifted her focus to the paintings projected on the walls. To her surprise, one painting triggered a distant memory. A recollection from her childhood, a time when she was barely seven, her memories mere foggy clouds in her mind. Perdita recalled holding her mother's hand while gazing at this very painting.
It was winter, the halls exuding a biting cold that seeped through her boots, chilling her feet uncomfortably. Her mother stood in front of the painting for what seemed like an eternity—perhaps longer in the perception of a child.
Perdita, a restless she was back then, tugged at her mother's hand, failing to comprehend what captivated her in that seemingly dull painting. It depicted ships on the ocean, nothing extraordinary. Now, as an adult, Perdita gazed at the same painting through a different lens, appreciating its message in a newfound light.
They were ships on the oceans, indeed—a massive sailing warship, towed by a smaller steamship to be dissembled. The painting bore the title: "The Fighting Temeraire Tugged to Her Last Berth to Be Broken Up" by J.M.W. Turner. A symbolic representation of an era's transformation. Perdita shifted back the victim, realising her head was turned to face this very painting. Everything orchestrated by the Obsidian bore purpose in their mysterious way. "... and your sins must not taint it." Were they collectively targeting pure-bloods, or just her, or her and the other victims? Beyond the status, what criteria guided the killer's selection of victims? There had to be something more.
A deliberate, loud cough interrupted her train of thoughts. Perdita had somehow missed Ominis opening the door and stepping behind her.
"You startled me," she admitted, turning towards him. Ominis knocked her head to the side, offering a faint grimace. "I think the word you're looking for is thank you."
He seemed in a particular mood, and signs of a rough night started to emerge from his usually composed demeanour. Perdita opted not to poke a very much controlled bear, at least not too much.
"Thank you. What for exactly?"
"For saving your job. Lucky for you, our interests align for now. But I had to endure that man and his dimwitted comments for an hour before I excused myself. Let me tell you, not much hiding under that top hat."
It must have been pure torture; no wonder his bad mood increased tenfold.
"That much is evident. Will he leave us alone to investigate in peace?" A more frequent visit than once a year could dampen morale in the office. Perdita hoped Evelyn's plan would bear fruit, allowing them to close this case once and for all. She cast a furtive glance at Ominis; the MaTrace holo danced on his features, giving him an ethereal aura.
"He will, but he insisted on interviewing that Leo Harrington; no doubt Patty planted that idea in his mind. Rosier doesn't have a single thought he could call his own." Ominis furrowed his brows, expressing his disapproval of having to undertake such a meaningless task. On that matter, they were in agreement; Leo Harrington seemed to be a dead end.
"Well, if we must, we could go tomorrow," Perdita suggested, eager to postpone it as much as possible. However, Ominis's response was a firm no.
"We go now. That was the deal with Rosier. I guess he only cares about pleasing that harpie..." Ominis hesitated for a moment, something catching in his breath as a single drop of sweat rolled down his temple. "I meant that sharp-minded woman." The curse had slipped, and Perdita realised it. Of course, Ominis pretended it didn't happen and continued on. "The address is written on that paper. Care to apparate?" He extended his coated arm. Without protest, Perdita knew Ominis wasn't in a state to apparate alone. And the address was not written on the paper in braille, probably courtesy of Rosier's ignorance. Ominis wouldn't admit he needed help, instead framing it as a privilege for her to handle the situation.
"Outside," Perdita directed him out of the capsule room. Before he closed it, she turned off the capsule and levitated it back to its place. The capsule room was a strict no-apparition zone.
They landed on a bustling street in Bayswater. The sought-after building, number 58, was right next to them, but something on the other side caught Perdita's eye. Not someone, but a large wooden board used for advertising in this mostly Muggle neighbourhood. Amidst a few room-for-rent offers and other advertisements, it served as a place for missing persons. Many faces adorned the board, yet Perdita focused on just one—a drawing of a child, no older than eight. She seemed familiar, but from where?
Without assessing her surroundings, Perdita stepped off the pavement onto the busy street, fixated on that flyer. She had seen it before. Looking at the others, she grasped on how many other young children were missing. Odd.
A sudden uproar of a carriage, the clatter of hooves, and distant shouts snagged her focus from the right. Perdita was on the brink of colliding with a massive black carriage. Her mind raced—could she apparate before...
Strong hands seized her from behind, swiftly yanking her back to the safety of the pavement. Ominis held onto Perdita firmly, refusing to release her. Instead, he drew her scandalously closer in public, his mouth almost brushing against her ear.
Perdita stood frozen in place, caught in a whirlwind of emotions she couldn't quite grasp. Was his act one of kindness or something else? His nearness sparked a myriad of hidden feelings within her, still catching her breath from the almost-death experience. Her heart raced, pounding in her chest, yet in the tight embrace, she heard Ominis's heartbeat resonating with hers.
"You..." he whispered between bathed breaths, "should not scare me like this, little hummingbird. I thought you were done for." The words, an intimate confession, were meant exclusively for Perdita's ears. In that fleeting moment, held in his arms, it felt like a return to old times, a fleeting illusion that demanded eternity.
Yet, Perdita understood that good things in her life had a tendency to end sooner rather than later. Abruptly, as if a curse had snapped back into place, Ominis's arm stiffened, tearing him away as if from searing metal. He didn't acknowledge the sudden shift, merely guiding himself to the intended building and knocking on the door.
Perdita stood there in shock, her hope flickering and reigniting simultaneously.
"I will get you back, my heart," she whispered to the wind, as if making a promise to herself.