Chapter Text
On the outside, nothing seemed to have changed. The train station in Hogsmeade still echoed with the sound of children playing and raucous laughter, a drone of background conversation rising in the cold air as merchants, shopowners, university students, and residents of the village drifted about in the play of their lives, moving from one scene to the next.
But take a closer look. A vein of concern had woven its way into the general consciousness. Spurred by bold headlines and harsh words spoken by men who were meant to lead, hushed words exchanged beneath shop awnings began to mutate from greetings to assurances of safety. The Goblin Rebellion. The growing vitriol towards Muggle-borns and the threat of economic collapse if the unprecedented inflation of the galleon continued. All subjects mingled on the lips of wizarding Britain as the lines carving their way through society deepened, perhaps irreversibly.
Far away, in a sun-blessed empire in India, a princess received an acceptance letter into a PhD program at the best wizarding university in Britain.
xxxxxxxxxx
Ominis Gaunt was used to hearing his name on people’s lips, tossed around carelessly like a ship in violent waters.
Hushed speculation that he was dabbling in dark magic, that he upheld his family’s beliefs with all the poisonous zeal of his ancestors before him. Some avoided him entirely due to that unfortunate misconception, while others looked disdainfully on him for not taking on his role as the scion of one of the most powerful pureblood families in Britain with the enthusiasm expected of him. It was almost amusing if it wasn’t so bleak.
Hated by both sides for not being what they expected.
He’d received a top-notch education at the Merlin Academy, where it was purebloods-only in all but written law. Because that, unfortunately, was still illegal. He’d even gone and provided a victory tour for the Gaunt family by earning a Bachelor's at a similarly reputed institution where his roommate’s voice had wavered slightly upon hearing his family name. He was gone by the next day, and- no doubt due to Mortis Gaunt’s meddling- Ominis enjoyed the privilege of a room to himself and virtually no friends throughout all four years.
Ominis felt the noose of his family’s expectations tightening. In a moment of panic spurred on by a late night and perhaps too much Firewhiskey, he’d made the wild decision that his next course of action to avoid the threat of an engagement looming on his head was- of course- to push his education further. In the early hours of the morning, the answer had come to him in a stroke of inspiration.
A postgraduate degree. It would be easy enough to convince his father that he wanted to continue studying, and Dr. Gaunt did have a rather nice ring to it. Any trepidation he felt about a potential rejection was kindly soothed by the family, who assured him that Black wouldn’t be stupid enough to reject a Gaunt.
I wouldn’t even need to show up to get the degree, clearly. Perhaps my family name could do all the work for me.
His father hadn’t been amused by the snide comment.
xxxxxxxxxx
Cragged mountains stood sentinel over the borders of the Surya Empire, fortification provided by the expanse of desert and lush forests, only a fool would attempt to navigate without rock-solid navigation wards and cartographic sigils. Six provinces sprawled over the region, villages and towns aggregating towards the center of the empire where the palace sat like a crown jewel on the slopes of the high hills, surrounded by scrub brush and Frangipani trees renowned for their wandwood.
Dominated by needle-precise geometrical towers, intricate carvings along ancient stone walls, and opulence that drew visitors from every corner of the globe, the Surya Royal Palace was a muse, a symbol of strength, and a warning all in one. Color and artistry swept along each gilded chamber, magic curling along the vaulted, gold-streaked ceilings and Lapis pillars that centered themselves as ground zero of powerful spots of arcane energy.
Surya prided itself on being the anomaly it had gained a reputation for. A crossroads of magic and science, where both Muggle and Wizard contributed progress in their own unique way. Further solidifying its reputation as a unique spot in the wizarding nations, the royal family was entirely Muggle. That fact drew scrutiny and ire from sister nations such as Britain, but greatness was the goal, and diversity was the tool with which to achieve it. Magic wove itself into the roots of the land, simmering in the desert heat and only amplifying itself with each generation that strengthened it.
From the Weaver Witches spinning intricate magic into each stitch of their handwoven garments, allowing the shimmering threads to shift and dance under the burning sun, to street vendors making their harvested dried chillis even more potent through murmured spellcasting, every corner of the empire thrummed with vibrancy, with power, whether magic or not.
When the little princess had been born, a third child, and the first girl, the kingdom had been jubilant. Goblin tribes from the deep desert traveled alongside lycanthrope nomads to pay respects to the royal family, giving blessings in the form of precious goblinsilver amulets to ward away nazar, and yantras that had been strengthened during the full moon. When the little princess showed her first sign of a command over magic, the celebrations had lasted for days, and the royal family had been ecstatic.
Since the moment she was born, Princess Miradevi Surya Lakshmi was loved.
xxxxxxxxx
Twenty-eight men sat around an oak table in the center of a marbled room. A crystal chandelier caught the light of family crests and signet rings, and the cherubs painted into the gilded ceiling turned away, their rosy faces cracked with age. They could not bear witness to history repeating itself. Not again.
“Things will change soon. Of that, you can be assured.”
“And what if the people do not agree? Only a fool would ignore the threat of a displeased public.”
A cold voice cut in. “Only a fool would think that the masses hold a candle to the power we possess. This world is ours to take- and take it back, we shall.”
xxxxxx
Ominis heard whispers that there was a high-profile student set to attend Hogwarts at the same time as him and, before the term even started, the buzz had begun. He'd brushed it off, clinging to the faint promise of a new life Hogwarts offered, and he was more concerned with breaking away from the fate that seemed to be carving itself into his destiny. He had other things to do besides stick his nose in gossip that had so very little to do with him. Besides, there was also Anne’s malady to worry about.
Sebastian Sallow had been a good friend since their early years together at the Academy. Ominis had taken the observations of them being joined at the hip with cool nonchalance, neither confirming nor denying it, but always having a supportive word to say for the Scotsman. Sebastian had provided a necessary space when his life had started descending into deep, merciless waters, and he’d kept afloat only because of his friend’s unique brand of loyalty that would have demanded subjugation from a mountain range. Anne- for the brief time Ominis had known her before the incident- was lively, mischievous, and certainly did not deserve any of what happened to her. And yet.. the darkness her brother insisted on dragging himself into was beginning to grate on his nerves, stirring up something worse.
But he pushed it down and focused on what Hogwarts promised. A new start. This was a new start and Ominis decided he’d be damned if he let the swirling mess of swords hanging over his head be his undoing.
That new start had as inauspicious a beginning as he could have imagined. It was ridiculous, in his opinion, to be sorted into houses as if they were children, but somewhere he knew his resistance came from the knowledge of where he’d instantly go. His ancestor had been a part of the university’s ancient legacy, after all. A fact that his father would rather kiss a house elf than stop reminding him about every second of the day.
“ Gaunt, Ominis. PhD candidate with a Concentration in Audiomancy.”
The hat had taken a few seconds and declared him a Slytherin- a fact even he could have seen coming. He slid into place on the long wooden tables, exchanging cursory words with people he quite enjoyed avoiding. Friendships his father wanted him to cultivate- Felix Malfoy, the Lestrange’s absolutely unhinged son-
“Her Highness, Lakshmi, Miradevi Surya. PhD candidate, concentration in Ontokinesis.”
His head snapped away from whatever Mulciber had been saying- not that it was important in the first place. A low murmur began to rise from the Hall like hornets. Ominis tilted his head, wondering he’d bloody heard right.
Princess Miradevi. The muggle-born daughter of a royal family that presided over the most formidable empire of the wizarding nations, and loathed by the people sitting at the same table as him. The pulse of light at the tip of his wand flared, catching the sound of steady footsteps and the faintest hint of jasmine. He exhaled softly. He’d heard about the princess. He’d heard a lot. Whether any of what he’d heard was true, however-
“ Slytherin.”
———————
Miradevi stepped off the stool as the Deputy Headmistress returned the silver and sapphire-wrought tiara that had to be replaced with the mangy hat for a few seconds. She murmured a thank you, readjusted it on her head, and looked up. Slytherin. She’d done some reading on the rather odd division system the university boasted and chalked it up to typical English oddity. Unlike nearly everyone before her, no one had applauded for her being assigned to the House of people sitting at the far end who were glaring at her as though she’d personally insulted their mothers. The princess’s gaze darted over as she approached the long table, scanning for one friendly face-
There.
Seated beneath one of the torches, pale orange light spilling over his features, sat a man she was convinced had wandered out of an Austen novel. Tall, pale-oh, he’d burn to a crisp if he ever saw the Indian summer- although she did have to wonder why on earth she was thinking about showing him her home as soon as she’d clapped her eyes on him. A smattering of beauty marks spilled over high cheekbones, and unfairly long lashes framed opalescent eyes that seemed fixed on a spot around her shoulder as she approached.
Mira paused before him, strangely uncertain. She was aware of the eyes of far too many people on her, but scrutiny could almost be called a friend at this point. He tilted his head up, slightly to the side, then stood.
For a moment, she said nothing as he bowed, low and perfect. Her hand automatically reached out for him to take, her bangles jingling softly with the movement. He took her hand like she’d handed him her crown. Strangely enough, nothing around her seemed to exist except the slight coolness of his hand against hers, and the way he looked off to her right, like he was trying to seek her out to the best of his ability.
“Your Highness.”
Well, that was just unfair. He couldn’t be ridiculously good-looking and have a voice that set her nerves on fire. A voice crafted for telling stories by firelight, for expensive teas, and perfect posture.
“Mira.” She said softly. “Please, just Mira. And- you are?”
He seemed hesitant to reply. “Ominis Gaunt, princess. It’s an honor.”
Miradevi smiled. “The honor is all mine. I know exactly who you are, Ominis Gaunt.”
“Oh. I understand. Quite a few people do seem to think so.”
His hand stiffened, a slight crease in his brow marring his forehead. There was a quirk downward on his lips as he sighed softly as if internally reprimanding himself- for what, she had no idea. Miradevi shifted, wondering if she’d said the wrong thing.
“I’ve read your research on auditory spellwork, and found it fascinating- and deeply necessary, may I add.” She pushed forward, not really caring that her hand was still in his, that they were still standing. “Your work has inspired some changes in the accessibility of our institutions and magic systems back home- that’s all. I’m sorry if I said something untoward.”
He was silent for a few moments. His eyes softened. And Miradevi caught a glimpse of something hidden beneath the cool exterior and impeccable manners. Someone so achingly kind she nearly leaned closer to get a better look.
“That means more to me than you can ever know, Your Highness,” Ominis said softly, his voice distinctly breathier, as if he’d hardly believed the words coming from her lips. “Please, sit. I’ve kept you standing for far too long-“ he gestured, and Miradevi slid onto the wooden benches as he sat beside her.
“I would have hated to put my foot in it the moment I arrive at a new place.” Mira grinned, feeling slightly more at ease. “I am capable of diplomacy, I promise.”
The hostility from the people around her was easy to ignore when Ominis Gaunt laughed softly, indulgently, at her words.
“I don’t doubt it.” Ominis fought down a smile as he heard her delighted gasp at having seen something on the table she liked. Something chocolatey, based on the scent.
“I have a feeling, princess, that you will be making these next few years very interesting for me.”