St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Muggle London.
St. Mungo's was unnaturally still at this hour. The light in Trauma Ward Three was a dim, warm gold—gentle and steady, like it had been charmed to soothe panic.
Omar lay unconscious on the narrow bed, wards thrumming around him. A shimmer of protective magic hovered just above his skin, like the air itself refused to give up on him.
Mizar stood like a statue beside the bed. His hand gripped the railing hard enough to make the veins in his forearm stand out. He hadn't spoken in an hour. Not since Omar's fingers twitched.
Callista sat curled in the corner chair, her knees drawn up, chin resting on them, eyes wide but dry. She looked more like a girl than she ever did at school.
Andromeda hadn't moved from Omar's side. Her scarf was still stained with blood, her fingers still curled around his wrist. She kept her touch feather-light, careful not to break Lycoris's earlier order.
Lycoris worked in silence near the shelves of potion vials, scanning Omar's latest vitals. She hadn't told them to leave. She hadn't tried. She knew better.
"His magic's stabilizing," she said finally, reading a glowing line of script that hovered in midair above Omar's chest. "That's good. That means his core is fighting back."
Mizar swallowed. "Is he still… bleeding?"
"No," his mum replied, a bit more gently. "The swelling's gone down. The clot dissolved. I accelerated his tissue repair. It's not physical anymore—it's magical fatigue. Magical trauma can behave like coma, especially after a blow like that."
Andromeda's voice was hoarse. "So he might not wake up?"
Her aunt met her eyes. "He will. But when is a question I can't answer."
There was a long silence.
"I should've seen it coming," Mizar muttered. "They were getting reckless. The twins. Prewetts."
"They weren't trying to kill him," Callista said, voice dull. "They just don't know when to stop."
"They aimed for the Bludger," he growled. "That Bludger nearly took out half his skull."
Lycoris raised a hand. "Enough."
He stopped talking, but his jaw clenched tighter.
Andromeda shifted slightly. "I don't know what to do. I feel useless."
"You're not," Lycoris tried to soothe her. "You're here. That's something. For some people, it's everything."
A beat of silence passed.
"I contacted his family," Lycoris continued. "His parents are out of the continent, as are his paternal grandparents. Both couples are requesting emergency Portkeys, but it'll take a few hours for approval."
"What about his mother's side? They live in Madrid." Mizar asked, worry threading through his voice. "Can't they get here?"
"The Spanish Ministry's granted them a Portkey. They should arrive within the hour."
"Did you call his brother?" Callista asked.
As if summoned, the door ward gave a low hum.
A tall man stepped through—robes of midnight blue, wand holstered neatly at his side. His hair curled slightly at the temples, just like Omar's always did after flying. His gaze went first to the bed, then to the three teenagers gathered tightly around it.
Darius Ghaffari Fuentemayor crossed the room in five long strides.
Where Omar was a perfect blend of their Indigenous, white, and Persian sides, Darius took more clearly after the latter. He carried himself with the quiet authority of someone used to being listened to—and looked exactly like their grandfather.
The resemblance was uncanny.
"What happened?" he said, voice like cold steel dragged over velvet.
Mizar answered him. "He took a Bludger to the head during the game."
Darius's jaw clenched. "Gryffindor?"
Mizar nodded once.
Callista shifted but said nothing.
Lycoris finally stepped forward. "He's stable. That's what matters. He needs rest. Time."
The Lawbinder placed a hand lightly on his little brother's shoulder. He didn't speak to him. He just stood there, hand still, watching his brother breathe.
"He'll want to know who stayed," Darius said after a long time. "Who fought for him."
"He'll know," Andromeda said. "He always knows everything. Unfortunately."
Darius's mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
Callista glanced at the clock. "Do we have to go back to Hogwarts?"
"Not tonight," Lycoris answered. "I've already sent word to Slughorn. He's cleared you all to stay."
Mizar finally let go of the bed railing. He sat down in the chair beside Andromeda, eyes still locked on Omar.
"I'm not leaving until he opens his eyes."
"No one's asking you to," Lycoris said.
Darius folded his arms. "Neither am I."
The lights dimmed further, enchanted windows casting a gentle twilight glow across the ward. Outside, the night was cold, but in the room it stayed warm. Protected. Held.
Andromeda's voice broke the silence, soft as thread.
"He's going to be okay."
Mizar didn't blink. "He has to be."
And so they stayed—Mizar, Andromeda, Callista, and Darius—all keeping watch.
Waiting for Omar to come back to them.
The door ward hummed again, quieter this time.
Amethyst Corner slipped into the room with practiced ease, her white robes bearing the St. Mungo's crest stitched in silver thread, hair pulled into a neat bun that still managed to look windswept. She carried two potion vials and a diagnostic slate, her steps soundless as if the floor knew better than to echo.
"Vitals update?" she asked Lycoris softly.
Lycoris nodded. "Magical core stabilizing. He's past the threshold for risk, but I'm monitoring for aftershocks. I was going to call you in for rotation."
"I came as soon as I saw the name," Amethyst said, already crossing to the bedside. "He's your boy's best friend. I figured you wouldn't leave."
Mizar didn't say anything, but the tight set of his shoulders eased just a fraction. He watched as Amethyst gently checked the readings above Omar's chest, her wand moving with the grace of someone who didn't waste energy when lives were involved.
"He's strong," she murmured. "Give him time. The rest is up to him."
Mizar leaned back slightly in his chair. "You'll stay?"
Amethyst looked at him properly now. "Of course I will."
He nodded, just once.
It was the kind of question Mizar didn't ask out loud—not often, not of many people. But Amethyst Corner wasn't just another Mediwitch. She was the one who had helped bind his fractured shoulder at fourteen after a midnight broom crash at Hammersmith he never told his mum about. She was the one who slipped him pepper-up when his pride refused to admit he'd gotten sick. She had been his mother's best friend long before Mizar understood what that meant—his mum's Omar.
"Why are you standing?" she added lightly, nodding at the chair beside him. "Sit down before you grind your spine into dust."
Mizar gave the ghost of a smile and didn't argue.
Amethyst glanced at the other three. "Callista, sweetheart, you need water. And sleep. But mostly water."
Callista gave a hollow little laugh. "Will tea do?"
"I'll make it do," Amethyst said. She waved her wand, conjuring a tray with three steaming cups and a pitcher. "No Calming Draught unless you ask. I know how Slytherins feel about consent and potions."
"Wise woman," Darius said with a nod of approval.
Amethyst caught his eye. "You're Darius, I assume. You've got your grandfather's scowl."
"Thank you," he said dryly. "It's inherited."
Mizar almost—almost—chuckled.
The mood lightened by a sliver.
And still, Omar lay unmoving.
But now there were two trained wands beside him, three friends refusing to leave, and a brother who looked like he could sue death itself if it tried anything foolish.
Andromeda leaned forward, eyes never leaving Omar's face. "He's stubborn," she said softly. "If anyone can fight through this, it's him."
Mizar's voice, low and certain: "He will."
The charm-glow over Omar's chest pulsed gently. A slow, steady rhythm.
And so they stayed: Lycoris and Amethyst keeping watch over body and magic, Darius standing guard with law and blood, and Mizar, Andromeda, and Callista holding their ground—not just as friends, but as anchors.
In the quiet gold of Trauma Ward Three, nothing moved but breath, and hope, and the soft hum of magic holding fast.
An hour passed. Maybe two. No one kept track anymore. The quiet in Trauma Ward Three had settled like fog—thick, unmoving.
Then, at last, the Portkey chime rang.
Not loud, but unmistakable. A soft tone of shifting magic followed by a faint shimmer in the designated arrival circle near the ward's door.
Lycoris rose quickly, lowering the wards with a flick of her wand.
A swirl of golden light formed—and from it stepped two sharply dressed figures in long, travel-worn coats that still carried the faint scent of Mediterranean wind and salt.
Omar's maternal grandparents were impossible to mistake.
His grandmother, sleek and silver-haired, with almond-shaped eyes and a gaze sharp enough to cleave silence in half, stepped forward first. She wore a soft navy cloak pinned with the sigil of the Iberian Magical Alliance, and even though her boots clicked quietly against the floor, she moved like someone used to commanding battlefields and boardrooms alike.
His grandfather, whom he was named after, followed—a medium height man with perfect posture, dark black eyes scanning the room in precise movements. His tie was still perfectly knotted despite the Portkey, and the crest of the Pan-American Assembly of Wizarding Education shimmered faintly on the lapel of his robes.
Mizar stood immediately. Callista followed. Andromeda was already moving toward them before they reached the bed.
"Mrs. de Armas. Mr. Fuentemayor," she greeted, voice steady but low.
"Thank you for staying," his grandmother replied, her voice clipped but warm. "You all know better than anyone—he can be a little much, but he's ours."
Her husband gave Mizar and Darius a firm nod. "We came as fast as the Spanish Ministry allowed. Your parents are still pushing for clearance—dual coordination between London and Mumbai takes time."
"They'll get through," Darius said. "They always do."
"Your grandparents are on their way too," his grandfather added. "Your grandfather made a scene at the New Zealander Ministry."
The oldest Ghaffari Fuentemayor exhaled slowly. "That sounds like him."
Omar's grandmother approached the bed and took her grandson's hand gently in hers. Her thumb brushed his knuckles once, then stilled. She didn't cry—people like her rarely did in front of others—but her jaw clenched, and her shoulders dropped a fraction.
"He looks smaller like this," she murmured. "When he's loud, he fills a whole room."
"He'll be loud again soon," Lycoris said from the potions shelf. "His core's stabilizing. That was the hardest part."
"Thank you," his grandfather said. "Truly."
Amethyst, now fully at the helm of the watch, nodded toward the readings. "All numbers are trending upward. If he keeps this pace, I wouldn't be surprised if he opened his eyes by dawn."
Mizar didn't speak. But his hand closed tighter around the edge of his chair.
Andromeda took hold of Omar's hand again.
They stayed like that for a while. Soft lights. The hum of magic. Darius on guard, Lycoris pacing quietly. The older diplomats sitting now, dignified even in their waiting.
Then—finally—
Omar stirred.
Not a twitch of muscle. Not a reflex.
A deliberate movement.
His fingers curled weakly around Andromeda's.
She went still. "Mizar—"
He was already leaning forward.
Omar's brow furrowed faintly. His mouth moved, dry and cracked.
And then, hoarse and half-slurred:
"Is it still… Gryffindor's turn to cheat?"
Callista let out a choked laugh. "You absolute menace."
The Lawbinder barked out a breath that might've been a laugh—or the first real exhale in hours.
Andromeda stared at him like he'd risen from the dead. "You moron. You scared the living daylights out of us."
Omar blinked. "You cried."
"I did not."
"You're definitely crying."
His grandmother leaned in, brushing his hair back from his temple.
"¡Casi nos matas de un susto, Omar! ¿Cuántas veces tendré que repetirte que el Quidditch no es un juego para poner en peligro tu vida?"
Omar gave the faintest smile. "Hola, abue."
His grandfather stepped forward, less stern, more teasing—but no less affected.
"Mira nada más," he said, crouching slightly to be level with Omar's face. "El campeón del año."
Omar let out a rough breath that could've been a laugh. "Hola, abuelo."
"¿Tú crees que tu madre va a perdonarte por esto?"
"Siempre dice que le saco canas verdes ."
"Porque siempre te metes en líos," his grandfather said, brushing a thumb over his shoulder.
Mizar sat back in his chair, watching quietly as the older man laid a warm hand on Omar's arm. He didn't understand every word—but he didn't need to. The comfort was written in every gesture.
His grandmother switched to English briefly, eyes sharp as glass. "He needs hydration. And food."
"We'll get him broth," Lycoris said from behind them. "No solids until he's fully conscious for at least an hour."
"Fine," she said, folding her arms, though she clearly had opinions about that.
Omar's eyelids fluttered. "Is she threatening the healer?"
"Sorta," Mizar said. "It's good to have you back."
Omar blinked slowly at him. "You stayed."
"Of course."
His grandfather ruffled his curls gently. "Y yo que pensé que este año no nos darías un susto."
"Is broth all I get after nearly dying?" Omar croaked.
"You want me to summon the Gryffindor twins so you can have words instead?" Mizar offered dryly.
"No," Omar sighed. "Let me suffer in peace."
"You're lucky you're getting anything," Mizar replied. "You scared half the hospital."
"You stayed," Omar said, turning his head slowly toward him.
"We all did," Mizar said. "You think we'd leave you to die just because you've got terrible taste in flying strategy?"
"I was just being dramatic."
"You nearly died, you absolute knob," Callista snapped, but her voice was thick with relief. "They had to fly you out in a warded platform. Don't do it again."
"Andie… if you keep holding my hand like that, I'm gonna lose it."
"Sorry," she murmured, pulling her hand back like it had scorched her.
"I'm surprised you guys stayed."
"I'm not surprised," his grandfather said quietly from the side, arms folded behind his back. "You have a good sense for people, Omar."
Darius nodded once. "You chose your circle well."
Callista gave a small smile. "You make it sound like he built us."
"I'm just saying," the old man replied, his tone gentle, "loyalty like that doesn't come from nothing. It says something about who's giving it."
Darius spoke again, voice thoughtful. "You got good mates, Omar."
Omar gave a faint grin, voice still hoarse. "They don't know that's an insult yet."
"It's not," his brother said, and though the words were directed at him, his attention lingered on Andromeda for a beat longer than necessary—studying her. "It's rare."
"Thank you, Andromeda. For staying by his side even when you were told not to." Then he added, "Maybe I should take you out for dinner to say thank you. Or—" his eyes flicked toward Omar without moving his head—"send someone in my place."
Omar let out the faintest groan. "Don't start."
"I'm just saying," his brother continued, perfectly straight-faced, "you're clearly very committed to his survival. That's… rare."
Andromeda blinked. "Are you joking?"
He tilted his head. "Half."
"I don't need a thank you."
"Maybe not," Darius agreed, then added dryly, "but this family has a habit of making things awkward when we're grateful, so consider yourself warned."
Omar sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Please let the near-death experience be the most dramatic part of today."
"No promises," his brother replied. "Especially not if Andromeda accepts."
"She's not accepting anything," Omar muttered.
Andromeda crossed her arms. "You don't get to decide that."
That earned the faintest smile from Darius.
He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, one brow raised just enough to suggest mischief beneath his usual composure.
"Well then," he said mildly, "I suppose we'll leave it to fate. Or Andromeda's impeccable judgment."
Omar glared weakly at him. "Why are you like this?"
"Older brother privilege," he said simply. "I endured you setting the shed on fire when you were twelve. I've earned the right to mess with you a little."
"That was an accident," Omar muttered.
"You threw a lit stick into a pile of dry leaves because you wanted to see if the salamander egg would hatch faster."
"And it did."
Darius gave him a flat look. "And then it tried to bite you."
Omar shut his eyes. "Details."
Callista turned slightly to her friend, barely hiding her grin. "You thinking of taking the dinner invite?"
"Absolutely not," Andromeda replied, lifting her chin. "That would be… wildly inappropriate."
"You wound me, Miss Black," Darius replied with a hand to his chest, all false drama. Then he turned to Omar with a smirk. "Perhaps then I'm right and it's better to send my younger, less intelligent, more reckless version instead."
"You mean your better-looking version," Omar said, croaky but smug.
His older brother let out a laugh—an actual one, quick and low and almost fond. "I'll let you have that. Near-death earns you at least one delusion."
Andromeda rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Then Amethyst Corner stepped into the room again, holding a steaming bowl in her gloved hands.
"You're both insufferable," she said, standing and brushing off her skirt. "And apparently full of salamander trauma."
"We're bonding," Darius said, eyes twinkling. "Try not to ruin it."
"Can't ruin what doesn't exist," she shot back, then added more gently, "But I'll take that broth before it gets cold."
Mrs. de Armas almost made her way to the Mediwitch but Andromeda was faster.
"I've got it," Andromeda cut in smoothly, intercepting both bowl and spoon before anyone else could blink.
Omar blinked up at her. "Are you seriously—"
"Drink," she said, crouching down by his bedside so they were eye-level. "We can argue about who's better-looking after you've had more than five words without croaking."
His grandmother smiled.
Omar raised a brow. "You think I'm better-looking?"
"Drink, Omar," she said flatly—but the faint color in her cheeks stayed although Mizar didn't notice.