Another dead end.

Quite literally, this time. The man that Rosalie Gaunt had been searching for, the one with news about her family right at the tip of his tongue, words that could have bloomed from his throat, now lies lifeless on the mossy rocks of the cape, with no particularly identifying marks for his cause of death.

She has seen enough dead bodies around there to know that this meant an ambush attack with Avada Kedavra. He likely did not have any time to retaliate or to prepare some indication about whom had perpetrated the crime, if he had even seen them at all.

Ominis stands next to her when she is finally able to identify the man. He washed up on the shore, body bloated and rotting, just as they reached his dusty cottage, nestled near the shore around Cape Agulhas.

Things are dangerous at the Cape Colony these days, for Muggles and wizards alike. Seeing a British compatriot in such a dreadful state, object of such needless, wanton violence against a fellow countryman was quite sobering.

A storm brews on the sea, a few kilometres from the shore. The blond woman staggers back, the weight of the sky tumbling down, smashing onto the loose wet pebbles beneath her shoes.

"What… I'm… Please, no!" She chokes out, not managing to elaborate her thoughts any further.

Her husband puts his fingers over her eyes, gentle and calm like the waves lapping at shore, before steering her away from the sight.

"You should not look." He says, very softly, that the command is almost soothing.

Rosalie does not fight it. Numb, she lets herself walk aimlessly, body propped up by his touch, until her feet finally meet steady earth. Ominis hums and finally releases her eyes from his grasp. She stares downward, afraid of the bright colours across the horizon, too beautiful, too cheerful to bear.

"Sit." He says, hand at the small of her back, nudging she down.

She sinks down onto the grassy hill, wordless. She can only hold her hands to her mouth, gaze at her thighs and keep herself from crying. The man is standing, and he holds her at the shoulder, not quite in the interest of comforting her, but rather to be a stabilizing presence.

"You have become unsteady from shock. Let us wait here for a while, so you can get your bearings, lest you get splinched on our way home." He says, stony.

"Is he really…" She digs her nails into the flesh of her palm, trying to keep her voice even. She bangs her fist helplessly against her thigh. "I've looked so long, Ominis. So long! Finally, there is a clue, and now…!"

Her voice breaks.

"I know, my love. I know." He says simply.

It is not a lie, and he does understand it very well. She tells him everything, she has leaned on him all these years. How she has been separated from them, how her memories are faint, how she has been looking ever since.

"Rest." He says, now much softly. "I'll handle the… Discovery."

A shift of fabric, a gust of wind and a quiet popping sound besides her let her know he is gone. She does not know how long he is gone, but soon he appears back at the beach, sided with two wizards. From their robe, she can see that they were from the office of the Burgemeester, and would likely do the bare minimum to elucidate the death of a British wizard.

"Dit is die man." She hears him tell the men stationed nearby, voice low. "Sy naam is Sebastian Sallow, hy is 'n onlangse aankoms in die Kaap. My vrou het na hom gesoek, maar nou..."

The conversation filters in and out, pieces she finds herself too tired to try to hold onto.

Sebastian Sallow. She wonders who he was. She wonders if he has a family that will miss him, or if he left some unfulfilled dreams behind. Mostly, she considers that it must be difficult, to come so far away from home, just to die in a sudden, violent manner.

Not many British wizards come to the Cape often, and those who do are usually some eccentric Magizoologists who come study the fauna deeper within the continent. They prefer to deal with the Zulu in the east, instead of the small local community, and so she has little contact with them.

When she first came to her senses, washed off in the cold waters of False Bay, and when she found the man who would become her husband, he helped her ascertain that she must be British. Her blond hair and light skin immediately ruled out Xhosa, and she still does not speak a single word in Dutch. If she had any other precedence, there would be some paperwork registered with the colonial office, but alas, there were not.

As such, she is always keen to meet whomever comes from the Isles, on the off chance that they may have met before, or that she knows of her family. It is a fain hope, as she can only remember her first name and a greenhouse, which is not much to go by. Time and time again, her hopes were dashed. Though usually not as violently.

The Cape of Good Hope has not been a safe place for anyone, Muggle or wizard, for a long, long time. The three-way conflict between the indigenous peoples, the Boer and the British bleeds out everywhere, and things get worse as it is not very clear to ascertain who truly held authority in the land. The Ministry of Magic wants no part in the Empire-building of the Crown, despite its insistence, but at the same time, the African magical bureaucracy is slaughtered along with the non-magical people, and the structures that the Dutch set up back under the VOC are of no worth, as their community prizes itself to be as isolated as possible.

In the end, this is a land of lawlessness.

"Ag, ja, ek verstaan ... Natuurlik sal ons tot die beste van ons vermoëns saamwerk."

Rosalie rubs at the corner of her eyes, lost. They investigate and investigate, but their efforts are only worth so much when someone from England comes around with information and hope. Mr. Sallow more so, since some of their neighbours mentioned that he was looking for someone that matched her descriptions. He had been asking around, she had heard, of a girl who had been missing for years.

His wife, some of them said. Or at least someone who he prized very much, enough to come and look for her as far as Cape Town. It might be wishful thinking or jealousy, but she wishes that someone was looking for her with such dogged perseverance.

So close, but still nothing to show for it.

Ominis returns to her, and, with his cool blue eyes, carefully watches as she wallows in her loathsome misery. He says nothing, merely offering the silence of his company. Waiting.

"I…" She swallows a sob. "I thought this time, we would finally find something of worth. But still, nothing."

He does not say anything at first. He just rubs circles on her shoulders, waiting for her to get it all off her chest before he can hug it out.

"You have helped me so much, Ominis, and I…" She chokes on her words, not really knowing how to express herself. "I do not know how to repay you. Or how to apologize for wasting your time."

"I volunteered to help you, my love. I knew what I was getting in to when you came into my parlour, confused and asking for my assistance." He says, resting his hands together with hers. The sea breeze ruffles through his hair, blond locks fluttering. His words are light, forgiving. "Besides, you are now my wife, and if it is your birth family what you want, I shall not spare absolutely any effort to find them for you. You do not have to apologize for taking what is freely given. No matter what, I will be here."

Rosalie feels even worse, because the thought comforts her, that he will be here for her, even through this endless, endless search. She knows it hurts him, she knows she owes him at least the attempt of feeling content with what they have together, but…

The couple in her head look always so beautiful, smiling at her against the bright sun and the smell of saltwater. They look like they loved her, and she wonders if they would be happy when she returns home with such an upstanding man as her husband. She just wants to tell them that she is well.

The corner of her eyes prickle from a sudden flash flood of hot tears.

"Ominis…" She whispers, leaning her head onto his shoulder, burrowing her face into his robes. "What would I ever do without she?"

He quirks an eyebrow, even knowing that she won't see. "Is that a rhetorical question, my dear?"

"No." Rosalie mumbles. The nails of her hand dig hard onto the hem of his vest, pulling him closer. "Yes. I do not know."

Ominis remains silent.