Empty.

The Pensive was near empty and its promise had been shattered.

Ominis stood motionless, staring at the now-void basin, the once shimmering memories disappearing into nothingness.

"How?" He uttered, each breath a jagged intake of air that seemed to cut through his chest. This wasn't possible. It couldn't be but the feeling of being pulled back into reality so suddenly had left him both dazed and confused. It were such a stark contrast to the fleeting, comforting detachment of his reverie and in a fit of frustration, Ominis hurled himself at the stone structure, sending the basin of the Pensieve crashing to the floor. The water, spilled over him mingling with the remnants of his precious little memories, spreading out in all directions. The tears glistened momentarily before being absorbed into the cracks and crevices of the timeworn surface.

This was his sanctuary, his one refuge from the relentless darkness that had consumed his life and now it lay in ruins before him. The precious moments he had clung to, the fleeting glimpses of a past filled with light and love were now lost and as that realisation sunk in Ominis felt his knees buckle under the weight of his despair. He had returned to this room seeking solace, hoping to relive the past but now all that remained was emptiness.

CHAPTER TWO:

The air in the Dark Arts classroom was thick with anticipation.

Shadows flickered along the walls, cast by flames of ancient sconces that sat atop of each student's desk. Ominis sat at his usual spot near the back, his attention drifting between the brewing cauldrons and the whispers of his classmates.

Their eyes were all fixed on Professor Blackwood as she strode to the front of the room, a tall, imposing figure, her dark robes flowing like liquid night and her presence commanding immediate attention.

"Today," she began, her voice a low, melodious purr. "We will be delving into the more obscure and as some might say, perilous elements of dark magic. Potions... more specifically their Ingredients that, when used correctly, can amplify one's power beyond ordinary limits."

She paused, letting her words sink in as her gaze swept across the room. Ominis raised his head slightly, his sightless eyes directed forward, whilst the other senses attuned to every nuance of the lesson.

He listened to her speak about the properties of polyjuice and some other particularly noxious potions but he found his mind wandering every now and then, each time he'd catch snippets of conversation from a group of Slytherin boys huddled nearby.

"...Did you see them last night? The first years, I mean." One of the boys whispered. "They were acting weird. Like they were sleepwalking or something."

"Yeah!" Another one interjects, turning round to join the conversation.
"And did you see their eyes? They had this like weird green glow to them. Almost like they were entranced."

Ominis's curiosity piqued at the mention of that and he found himself leaning closer, pretending to adjust his potion ingredients while straining to hear more.

"Green glow? That's not normal."

"Not at all."

"Sounds like they were under some kind of spell."

"Yeah... You don't think-"

The whispers trailed off as Professor Blackwood shot them a sharp glance silencing the conversation.

But the seed of suspicion had already been planted in Ominis' brain and he wanted to know more. As he stirred his cauldron, his thoughts raced with questions. Green eyes? Wandering the halls in a trance all night? What could cause such strange behavior among the first years?

Weird.

"Mandrake root is not edible !" Professor Blackwater scolded, pulling Ominis from his thoughts. "It's a plant, capable of inducing a state of paralysis in those who come into contact with its essence. So I'd advise against taste testing!"

She snatched the root from the student in an almost comical fashion, scolding him once more for daring his partner to eat it before walking over to her desk and picking up a small, ornate vial, from her drawer. Its contents shimmered faintly and Ominis felt his head go light. "Mandrake is Powerful, but nothing compared to this," she said, holding it up for all to see. "Does anyone know what this is?"

Ominis' jaw went terse as  he sensed the familiar, distinct aura emanating from the vial.

"Pensieve tears?" He uttered without thinking, gathering a few strange looks from his classmates.

"Correct!" Professor blackwater smiled. Looking slightly intrigued as to how he could tell without seeing it. Of course, everyone knew he had some sort of ability to see, perhaps not in the traditional way, more so blackened lines and wisps of magic when he focused hard enough but it wasn't anything akin to sight. He still had to navigate the castle using his wand and have his pet serpent narrate books in parceltongue but there was certainly something there. It's just that no one knew quite what.

"You've encountered these before?"

"Not really." Ominis lied, shaking his head. "I mean I've come across them but I've never like.... Used them."

"And do you know what they're for?"

"No."

"Well, pensive tears are collected memories, distilled into their purest form. They are incredibly rare and possess potent magical properties. When integrated into certain spells or potions, they can significantly strengthen one's magic."

The room buzzed with excited whispers but Ominis felt an uncomfortable chill run over his skin. Pensieve tears. He had never considered their use beyond their intended purpose of reliving memories. Though the thought that such a personal, intimate substance could be repurposed for the dark arts unsettled him somewhat. For him they were a major weakness, they were his drug of choice, a means to escape the present by immersing himself in the past. The allure of revisiting cherished moments, of reliving the highs and lows of his life was intoxicating and each memory, was a fleeting escape from the harsh realities of the present, offering solace in their familiarity. However as he ran his hands across the empty vial in his pocket, the realization dawned on him that perhaps his dependence on these memories was more than just a habit—that maybe it had become an addiction. And like any addiction, it held the power to consume him, to cloud his judgment and distort his reality. With a heavy heart, Ominis pushed aside his doubts, burying them beneath layers of denial. But deep down, he knew that his reliance on the past was a fragile crutch, one that could easily shatter under the weight of truth.

"These tears," Blackwood continued, "Are not easily obtained. They require a profound emotional experience, often tied to moments of great joy or sorrow. Hence, they are among the most powerful and sought-after ingredients in the realm of magic. Stunning as they might be I want to remind you all of the importance of understanding the ingredients and their risks associated with the dark arts," she began, her voice carrying a weighty authority.
"Pensive tears, while having the potential to imbue a witch or wizard with heightened magical abilities, are not without risk. Improper handling of these tears can result in dire consequences."

"Like what?" One of the students asked admiring the vial in her hand. "They're just tears."

"Not just any tears, the more times a memory is viewed, the more it can warp and bend, distorting the truth. In addition to this, others who view a memory might be able to change it, they can rewrite your truth to serve their own but this is a dark and archaic form of magic. It's somewhat of a myth in the wizarding world."
she shrugged setting the vial back down. "So if you take anything from today's class it's that with great power comes great risk and the misuse of such potent ingredients can lead to dire consequences."

The students talk amongst themselves as the lesson moves on, into a more practical task but Ominis found it hard to focus. His thoughts kept returning to the vial in his pocket. He had many of his own, truths stored safely—or so he thought—in his room. They contained some of his most cherished memories, moments he had hoped to relive again and again.

Memories that he could actually see.

Maybe that's why it was so addicting, it wasn't just the act of reliving memories that drove him to seek solace in the tears. It was the vividness, the clarity with which they allowed him to experience the past. In a world where he was blind to the beauty of his surroundings, the Pensieve tears offered him a glimpse of something he had never known: Color.

"Hey, Ominis," His lab partner, Imelda whispered, turning to look at him. "Are you going to be at the Quidditch match tonight? It's going to be a big one."

Ominis's heart sank at the reminder. He had completely forgotten about the match, a tradition he and Sebastian once shared. In the past, Sebastian would always describe the action on the field in vivid detail when Y/n was playing, allowing him to experience the excitement too but things had changed recently. Ominis and Sebastian weren't talking and him and Y/n hadn't spoken much either, their once-close friendship fading into distant memory. With a pang of regret, Ominis realized just how much he missed those moments at the Quidditch pitch, the sound of Sebastian's voice painting a picture of the game unfolding before them, Y/n's breathless cheers after winning that trophy.

For a moment, Ominis hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "I... I'm not sure," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll have to see."

Imrelda handed him his textbook as she rose from her chair packing away their equipment. Her hands brushed his lingering a little too long as she handed him his textbook, it felt more intentional than accidental and Ominis couldn't help but notice the lingering nature of her touch, the warmth of her skin causing him to recoil slightly.

"Thank you." He smiles, accepting the book from her hands. "I haven't been in a while."

"Well you should definitely come," She said, her voice dripping with innuendo. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

Ominis felt a knot form in his stomach at her tone, his mind racing with confusion. He had always considered Imrelda a family friend, but her more recent advances had caught him off guard, leaving him at a loss for how to respond.

"Um, thanks," he finally managed to say, his voice strained. "I'll... see if I can make it."

Imrelda's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she observed Ominis's reaction to her invitation. There was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze as she remembered how the man's cheers seemed to grow louder whenever Ravenclaw scored.

"But you'll be cheering for the opposing team, won't you?" she remarked, her tone playful but still harbouring a hint of confusion.

"What?"

"You only ever cheer for blue, didn't know you were a secret Ravenclaw supporter, Ominis. Trying to hedge your bets, perhaps?"

Ominis felt a flush rise to his cheeks at Imrelda's teasing, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. "I, uh... well, you know how it is," He stammered, attempting to brush off her comment with a forced laugh. "Just appreciating good-"

but before he could respond, Imrelda's expression shifted to one of mock horror. "Wait, don't tell me... you've got the hots for someone in Ravenclaw, don't you?" she exclaimed, her tone mocking.

Ominis's cheeks flushed crimson at the suggestion, and he quickly shook his head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and fear. "No, no, it's nothing like that," he assured her hastily. "It's just... nostalgia, I guess."

Imrelda's demeanor softened at his response, and she winked playfully. "Alright, alright, I'll let you off the hook this time," she giggled. "But no more cheering for Ravenclaw, okay? Slytherin needs all the support it can get and, if you do decide to come, maybe we can spend some time together afterwards... yknow celebrating Slytherin's victory," she suggested.

"I... uh, yeah, maybe," he managed to stammer, his voice slightly breathless.

Imrelda's smile only widened at his reaction, a knowing gleam in her eyes. "I'll look forward to it,"

They packed up and Ominis couldn't be happier to leave the stuffy classroom Before he'd even reached the door his mind was already consumed by the famine whispers of the pensive. They echoed in his mind like a siren's call, taunting him. His precious pensive was broken and he needed to fix it.

He walked hastily out into the hall and across the flying lawn, his ears pricking to the sound of Quidditch players warming up for their match and for a moment, he considered taking Imrelda up on her offer, of letting the thrill of the game wash away his troubles. But the pull of the pensive was too strong, too all-consuming to ignore.

With a heavy heart, he turned away from the pitch and made his way to the library, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. As he entered he felt a sense of calm wash over him, a brief respite from the chaos of his thoughts.

He headed straight for the section on magical artifacts, his fingers tracing the spines of the ancient tomes as he searched for answers. He knew he couldn't continue relying on the broken pensive but the thought of losing those precious memories was almost unbearable.

As he pored over the dusty pages, casting an enchantment to read them aloud. It spoke of shattered pensives, of memories trapped in a perpetual loop, forever frozen in time. And as he read on, his heart skipped a beat.

There, in the faded ink of the ancient text, was a method for salvaging those memories, for harnessing their power in ways he had never imagined. But just as he reached the crucial passage, the whispered stopped and he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Running his fingers across the page he realised it had been torn out, leaving him with only fragments of the knowledge he sought. With a frustrated sigh, Ominis closed the book, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew he had to find a way to get back the secrets hidden within his pensives, no matter the cost but unfortunately it wasn't quite that simple.