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orqheuss · 2 months

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How to ask for help - PART 2

(Ominis/GN!Reader FLUFF)

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Summary:

The five times you helped Ominis, and the one time he helped you. *** You take Ominis for a spin.

Word count: 6.4k

Part 2: Flyin' Blind

March, 4th year

It wouldn’t be until months later that you had a moment to talk to Ominis. It wasn’t that you were avoiding each other— quite the opposite on your end, actually. Unfortunately, you just ran in different circles. Well, you did in a sense. He was often found with Sebastian, and those two disappeared to random corners of the school at any chance they got. You, on the other hand, lacking as you were in the friend department, spent a majority of your time flying around the Scottish Highlands. It was freeing to you, to be that far away from the castle and, in turn, away from the responsibilities of being a student at Hogwarts. You had been in school before your Hogwarts letter arrived, along with the estimable Professor Fig to explain the magical world to you and your muggle parents, but never had you gone somewhere so…interesting. For somewhere considered the “safest school in the Wizarding World,” it sure was, decidedly, not that.

Currently, you had just returned from your flight to Upper Hogsfield and were doing laps around one of the more dangerous spots, the Astronomy wing. That tower in itself was quite precariously built, let alone the sheer height of it and how easy it would be to climb over the railings. You loved it, though; it was the perfect spot to practice tight turns and barrel rolls. That is, until a student at the very top calls out to you and nearly knocks you to your death.

“Nice flying, lily pad!”

You yelped in surprise, grabbing tightly to the broomstick under you and willing it to a screeching halt, casting a scathing glare to the boy who scared you silly.

Sebastian Sallow lowered his hand from where it was raised in a wave, his face morphing into a bashful look of regret— a very similar face to the one he made when you first met.

“Sorry…” he said, an apologetic smile creasing his face.

As you flew closer to him, you heard a second voice come from his right. “Honestly, Sebastian. Because calling out to them went so well last time.”

In your fright, you didn’t notice one Ominis Gaunt on the other side of the boy, his hair lightly ruffled by the freshly spring breeze and dislodging his normally perfect quiff. They were both dressed smartly in their casual weekend clothes— a starched cream button down with rolled sleeves under a forest green sweater vest and pressed dark brown corduroys for Ominis, and a patchwork brown sweater tucked into black trousers for Sebastian. Your heart gave a little lurch at how nice the blond looked outside of uniform.

Strange, you thought to yourself. That was a reaction you hadn’t felt before.

The troublesome brunette smiled again as you reached them, his arms now resting on the railing of the tower in a similar position as his counterpart, letting his body lean slightly over the edge. His hand bumped against Ominis’ clasped together ones.

“Oh hush,” he mused. “Here they are, safe as life.”

The blond snorted but didn’t say anything, just fondly rolled his eyes at his best friend.

You cocked your eyebrow at Sebastian, joining the conversation from your perched position in the air. “What did you call me, Sallow?” You nodded in greeting to the other boy. “Hello, Ominis.”

He nodded in return, beaming at the sound of your voice.

The brunette jokingly winced, clutching at his chest like you personally hurt him. “Reduced to last names only? You wound me, lily pad.” He relaxed again, laughing at your confused face. “Well, seeing as you fell into a pond when we first met, I thought it was an apropos nickname, don’t you think?”

You looked at him with amusement, gesturing with your head towards the quiet blond boy. “Ominis was the one with the plant on his head, not me.”

The Slytherin in question groaned, dropping his chin towards his chest. “Don’t remind me.”

“That is true,” the freckled teen said. “But Ominis would hex me where I stand if I dared call him that.”

“And what makes you think I won’t do just that?” You smiled now, big and bright against the sunny sky as you goaded him on.

“A chaotic sense of trust and a normally accurate read on people's true intentions?” He joked. “That, and I know that my friend here wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.” He slung his arm across the grinning boy’s shoulders, flashing you a cheeky grin of his own.

Ominis picked up Sebastian’s arm by the sleeve, his forefinger and thumb pinched around the fabric as he dropped it back to his side with a wrinkle of his nose. “On the contrary,” he teased. “I think I’d let them. Could take you down a peg.”

You liked this side of him, you decided. The humorous side. The carefree side. It was much better than the prickly pine of a boy that you met by the Greenhouses.

Sebastian’s mouth dropped in shock as he laughed, a smile still tweaking the corners of his lips. “Et tu, Brute?”

The blond chuckled, “Don’t quote Shakespeare to me when you barely remember the plot of the play, you swot.”

“I remember it enough to know a betrayal when I see one.”

“Anyway—” you cut in, stopping their banter before it got too far along. “What are you two doing up here on this fine day?”

Ominis jumped at the sound of your voice, forgetting you were there for a moment. You watched that lovely shade of red cross his nose and cheeks for the second time since meeting him, a smirk of your own growing on your face as you saw him look to the side, smiling bashfully.

You would dissect the fact you just called him lovely later.

The brunette sighed contentedly as a breeze blew through the valley. “Just enjoying the beautiful weather for once.”

He looked to his side, catching sight of the last dregs of color painting the tips of his friends' ears. An idea seemed to spark to life in his mind, his eyes flicking between the blushing blond and the stupid, proud smile turning your mouth. His own carefree grin stretched mischievously.

“Say…” he drawled. “I was just talking to Ominis about teaching him how to fly. Kogawa just kind of left him alone in first year when she taught the basics.”

The lithe Gaunt frowned in confusion. “No you weren’t. You were talking about how pretty Poppy looked—”

“But—” Sebastian cut him off. “Since you already have your broom out, and you seem more than capable, maybe you could help him figure it out.”

Ominis stuttered at the notion, his eyes widening once he picked up what his roommate was trying to do. “Sebastian wait—” He turned to you, looking quite like a gasping fish, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for the right words. “You—you don’t have to do that—”

“I’d love to.” You cut him off.

He stilled, shoulders relaxing minutely. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad for him. “Oh. Um— are you sure? I-It may be a lot of work—”

You cut him off again, that smile that hadn’t left your face since joining him atop the tower still evident in your voice. “I would love to teach you how to fly, Ominis.”

He let his own smile finally return then, a soft thing that made your heart feel strange, warm, almost, in your chest. “Okay. Thank you.” His voice was soft when he spoke— sweet like a melody.

Silently, you took back what you said to yourself earlier. You liked this side of him more. The shy, entirely too cute for his own good, side.

Sebastian clapped him on the back, dissolving the strange, but comforting, tension that was brewing between you and the pretty blond. “See? Everything worked out.” He simpered, triumphant, before speaking directly to Ominis. “You’re in good hands, my friend.”

He tilted his head towards you then, his voice raising so you could hear better. “Right, lily pad?”

You nodded, saluting him with two fingers. “Sir, yes sir.”

Ominis chuckled, directing his next words towards where you were still hovering. “Meet you by the quidditch pitch? Half an hour?”

His heart stuttered at how tender your voice was when you replied, like your words were just for him to hear. “See you there.”

He nodded at you in farewell, turning on the balls of his feet and walking towards the spiral stairs, the red tip of his wand blinking through the shadows. You watched him go, that stupid, dopey grin making its way back on your face as you thought about what it would be like to spend time with him— alone.

Sebastian cleared his throat, drawing your mind away from the pleasant images of Ominis’ charming disposition and towards the brunette’s smug, annoying sneer.

“What?” You asked, irritation leaking into your tone at that troublesome look in his eyes.

“Nothing! Nothing.” He held up his hands placatingly, backing away from the railing finally and turning in the direction that his friend had just left in— his Cheshire smirk somehow got wider, stretching his cheeks almost unnaturally. The brunette called over his shoulder to you as he walked away, “Have fun!”

The first thing you saw once your feet touched the ground in front of the quidditch pitch was Ominis dressed to the nines in a cocoon of padding. You held in your snickers as you took him in in all his glory, observing first the knee pads and chest harness wrapped around his limbs, then moving your eyes up towards the thick, pillowy protection decorating his shoulders, until finally your eyes locked onto his baby blues peeking out from under the much too-large hard hat covering the entirety of his forehead. That was the moment you truly lost it, giggles pittering out of your throat as you struggled to speak through the laughter.

“Ominis, what in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

You had the decency to quiet your sounds at the self-conscious look that crossed the blond’s features, instead admiring the pink that twinged the tips of his ears through the helmet. He reminded you of a story your mother used to tell you before you went to sleep— a little mouse who was born with ears twice the size of his head. You couldn’t help but draw a comparison to how the tiny fellow’s ears flopped out from under his hat to the increasingly rosy ears of your Slytherin companion.

Ominis puffed his chest like an irate diricawl, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders against his tiny shakes of insecurity. “Quidditch gear! It’s important to be safe when in the air, you know.”

You laughed again at how ridiculous he was in that moment, preening like a proud peafowl, sans the feathers. He deflated slightly, fighting against the small smile that was threatening to crease his lips at the sound of your joy, even if it was directed at him. You took the look creasing his face as one of disheartenment, crossing the small distance between the two of you and patting him gently on the shoulder.

“I’m very sorry, Ominis. You look quite dashing like that.” You simpered, stifling your laughter once more in an attempt to salvage the blond’s pride.

The young Gaunt shrugged off your hand halfheartedly, turning his face away from you and grumbling to himself under his breath. You distinctly caught the word “twat” being muttered before he shook off the final dregs of color from his face. You sincerely apologized this time when he looked back at you, his eyes focused just over your shoulder. He nodded his head, a tiny smirk tweaking the corners of his lips as his way of saying he took no offense.

A grin split your cheeks at the possible debauchery that invaded your thoughts. With a quick, sharp gasp, you feigned interest in something just off to the side of the both of you, craning your neck enough that the blind boy would surely take notice.

“Oh my, what’s that over there?”

He quickly whipped his head to the side, stretching so that his ear was focused for any strange sounds. “What is it? What did you see?”

You smiled wider, mischief swimming in your eyes that the boy couldn’t see. He was so focused that he didn’t notice your nimble hands approaching his head, wrapping around the sides of his helmet and quickly yanking it off.

“This!” You said, promptly dropping the head protection towards the ground before punting it far into the air with a grand kick. It flew with the birds just arriving back from their flight south, rotating like a planet on its axis against the clouds before falling back to earth, bumping down the canyon leading towards the thin river stretching along the school grounds.

Ominis stood stock still at your left, his mouth opening and closing in shock as he heard his precious protection tumble down the grass and splash into the water below. His eyes were the size of saucers, eyebrows raised into his hairline and his blond tresses fluttering in the breeze blowing through the valley, giving him a delightful case of helmet hair. You shook with laughter, sputters of mirth cresting out of your chest and filling the air around you with the sweet twinkle of your happiness. He liked this side of you, he reasoned. The mischievous side. The cheeky side. It was much more preferable than the crestfallen and meek lilt of your voice that he drew out when he first declined your help all those months ago outside the Greenhouses.

Even still, you did not know him well enough to know that he enjoyed just as much knavery as his freckled best friend. How could he not take advantage of this moment? It was incredibly rare that he made new friends, after all.

Ominis schooled his face into one of outrage, squaring his shoulders in faux indignation as he shook his head.

“Outrageous!” He spat. “It was a mistake coming here. If this is how you treat your friends, I shan't stay a moment longer.”

He bit his lip to stifle the laugh that threatened to spill out, turning on the balls of his feet like he was about to stomp his way back to the castle. Just like he thought you would, your laughter quickly ceased its tumultuous volume, a somber look crossing your face as you grabbed at his arm.

“Ominis wait!” You cried, a frown turning down the corners of your mouth and eyebrows scrunched above your eyes. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

He could hear your honesty in your words, and he almost felt bad for making you feel like you’d done something wrong. Almost.

“It was just meant to be a bit of fun. I didn’t mean to offend—”

He couldn’t hold it in anymore. A low chuckle spilled from his lips, rumbling his chest. You could feel the sweet vibrations where your hand was still latched around his, quite pronounced, you realized, bicep.

Your mouth dropped open in mock outrage, a smile turning your mouth just as quickly as the frown did earlier. “You prick!”

The grin in your voice just made him laugh harder, his arms raising to press against his stomach in elation. You started laughing along with him again, releasing his arm (not without a final squeeze against his muscles that you refused to acknowledge, of course) and smacking him lightly with both of your hands, each one hitting with a soft thwack.

Ominis, still giggling in gaiety, caught both of your wrists in his hands, holding them as soft as one would stroke a butterfly's wings as he finally turned to face you. The smile stretching his cheeks was enough to knock the wind out of your lungs.

“Ouch! Quit hitting me, you muppet!”

You weakly struggled against his hold, thinking to yourself that the silent strength of his warm palms wrapped around you felt quite nice.

“That’s not fair, Ominis!” You simpered, a giggle still dangling from your stretched lips.

“All is fair in devilry, my dear.” The blond said, his breathing finally calming down.

Looking into his eyes, still squinted in happiness and glowing brighter than the moon on a cloudless night, you fought the urge to flip his grip around and take both of his hands into yours. Color bloomed across the bridge of your nose at the thought— if anyone were to see you now, you’d blame it on being in the sun for too long.

Little did you know, Ominis was fighting a similar urge within himself: the urge to run his thumbs across the pulse point on your wrist and bathe himself in the soft thrum of your heartbeat.

Shaking yourself from the foreign, but not entirely unwelcome, emotion warming your chest, you gently pulled your wrists from the Gaunt boy’s grasp, smiling softly to yourself at the grin still stretching his face and the carefree look in his eyes as you summoned your broom from the ground.

“Well, my dear,” you teased, prodding the boy in the chest with the end of your broom. “I say we take to the skies while there’s still daylight, shall we?”

If he was bashful about the term of endearment he called you, he didn’t show it. Instead, he summoned the school-owned broom into his hand and presented you with his arm, waiting like a debonair gentleman for you to rest your hand in the crook of his elbow. You gladly took it, guiding him excitedly into the grandiloquent quidditch pitch so your lesson could begin.

Ominis prided himself on how quickly he determined the disposition of a person— it was one of the strengths of being blind, after all. What he couldn’t gather from sight, he learned through his stronger senses: sound and touch. His wand helped him a majority of the time with everything else, particularly body language. People don’t realize how much they give away about their personalities through how they hold themselves. He knew everyone in the castle— was always aware of them— by their cadence. Sebastian was brash— confident— his footfalls always loud and precise. He knew how everyone saw him and he reveled in the attention. The blond was aware of Anne Sallow in the same way. He remembered how when she was at Hogwarts she was quick with her steps, her feet barely touching the ground and moving like she was constantly on a mission. This skill of his helped him immensely on a day to day basis. He knew who to avoid, who he was safe to walk by and make idle chatter with, and especially where all the professors were. He was no stranger to sneaking around after hours, of course, so it helped to know each and everyone by their general aura. He liked being aware. Awareness was safe. Awareness kept him safe.

So it greatly troubled him at first that he wasn’t initially aware of you.

The blond hadn’t really paid much attention to you in the past, if he was being honest with himself. Ominis liked to be in the know about everything, so the fact that you were an enigma should have intrigued him. He knew of you, sure, but you were more of a recluse— a feat worth noting, if he said so himself, particularly when taking into account that he knew nearly all secret rooms and passages in the castle. Knowing of someone, and being aware of them, he was always sure to note, were vastly different. Even still, he only really noticed you more once you had introduced yourself. You had this quiet presence about yourself— a flower growing in the crack of the pavement. Since that moment by the pond— the kindness you showed him when he did nothing to deserve it and the honeyed tone of your voice when you procured his prized possession from under the depths— the young Gaunt boy made it his goal to have you join him in the light where you belonged. He liked keeping his friends beside him, after all, no matter how few of them he had.

Of course, he would deny that if anyone ever asked. Ominis Gaunt was not needy. He just really, really wanted to talk to you again.

That was all. He just wanted to be more aware of you. He was aware of all of his friends. That was his secret skill— his pièce de résistance.

That being said, this was a much higher level of awareness than he had been prepared for.

While Madam Kogowa was a force to be reckoned with, with her stoic nature and sturdy disposition, you were a gentle but firm study. You directed him through the basics of broom handling, tapping him on the shin with your foot to correct his placement and letting your warm hands carefully place his fingers in the correct positions on the shaft. Each movement had a purpose; it was almost like a dance, but only you could hear the music. Above all else, you never lingered. You never tried to direct the boy by grabbing at him and pulling like so many people often did— even Sebastian, on occasion, if he wasn’t thinking through his actions. But, you never did that. Each time your fingers would brush against a part of his body, you would retreat out of his personal space. If it was anyone else, he would have appreciated the gesture. But, the more your soft hands touched his, every time your body heat would hover just so against his clothed arms, he wished you would linger, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Ominis Gaunt knew a lot of things. He knew that the sun would rise every morning and the moon would rise every night. He knew that honeysuckle was his favorite scent and earl grey was his favorite tea. He knew that he was different from his family in every way that mattered. He knew that Sebastian and Anne were his brother and sister, even if it wasn’t by blood.

What he didn’t know, though, was how he felt about you. He didn’t like not knowing things.

For once, Ominis, the ever Emotionally Intelligent boy that he was, was at a loss.

Whatever this emotion in his chest was, though, he liked it— how it felt at least. It was warm, and after growing up in a house that was the metaphysical embodiment of cold, he craved warmth more than anything.

“Ominis? Are you alright?”

Your sweet cadence broke through the ever constant bustle of thoughts in his brain, silencing all sporadic movement in its tracks and leaving just the softness of your voice to fill his ears. He loved how you said his name— how you were sure to always mention that you were talking to him and him alone in your sentences. Even before when you were talking to Sebastian, you directed everything at him with one simple word. It wasn’t like it was the first time someone had ever addressed him directly in a conversation, it was proper etiquette after all, but the way you said it made him almost appreciate the foreign-ness of it— the distinct other-ness of his name compared to those of his peers. There was something lovely about the musicality of the vowels and consonants when you said it: Ominis. He’d never noticed how it rolled off the tongue before. Particularly, how it rolled off your tongue. Shaking himself from his thought spiral, it took him a moment to fully grasp what you had said in completion; it was like he was hypnotized by the gentle sway of your words.

“Hmm? Oh, yes— yes, my apologies. I was simply lost in the clouds for a moment.”

The boy could hear your steps as you paced around him— feel your eyes boring into his clothes with enough intensity to set him ablaze. Yet, there was a softness there, as well. Much like everything else to do with you, there was a pleasant heat to it, like a fire after a long winter day. You seemed to study him like Sebastian would study a book he hadn’t previously read, curiosity brimming under the surface and a yearning for understanding swimming in your aura, painting it a lovely shade of sunlight. Underneath your gaze he felt vulnerable— practically naked, even with his layers of clothing. You were gazing at him so intensely, it was almost like you knew more about him than you let on, like you could see right into his soul and pick him apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but his fragile beating heart in your hands.

For a moment, he was considering letting you do just that.

“What exactly are you doing?” He asked, trying to ignore the goose-flesh rising on his arms.

You stopped then in front of him, your face close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his cheek when you spoke, the timbre of laughter dressing your words. “Well, I hope you enjoyed your time up there, because you’re about to experience it for real.” He could nearly feel your smile against his skin and it nearly sent him spiraling. “I promise, everything will be alright.”

His heart was beating too hard for him to care that you ignored his question.

Ominis nodded, all reason thrown to the side and down the hill with his helmet because of you— your proximity, your grace, your laugh. How he adored your laugh. Even after knowing you for just under a year and talking to you a total of twice, your laugh was slowly becoming one of his favorite sounds.

Yes, Ominis the All Knowing did not know why he felt like this around you, but, Merlin help him, he was going to figure it out one way or another.

Ominis was flying much higher than he should, that much was for certain. Perhaps this was truly a bad idea, you mused to yourself as you watched him cling to the single piece of wood keeping him afloat. Without the padding he had, begrudgingly, shrugged off moments before take off, he was quite light it would seem. All it took was a particularly strong gale and he was soaring higher than the stadium pillars. Neither of you had taken into account the breeze that flew in from the coast that day in your assessment, the air carrying the lovely scent of pine and a hint of the salty sea. While the ground portion of the lessons had gone well, the air portion was proving to be quite tedious.

You could hear the air cutting against the wood of his broom as he raced around in circles, screams like that of a banshee ripping themselves out of his throat as he fought against the possessed carousel he found himself stuck in. If it wasn’t such a dire circumstance, it would have honestly been quite funny. Around and around he went, slowly making his way from one end of the quidditch field to the other like a tornado shifting itself across a barren field. It was amazing he hadn’t gotten sick yet.

The startled shrieks from the boy sent you into motion, quickly grabbing your broom from the ground and speedily making your way to the terrified blond, climbing up, up, up into the sky until you were parallel with his frightened form. You were sure that if you reached up with your full wingspan, you could touch the stratus clouds streaming across the brilliant blanket of blue above you. Ominis’ entire body was rigid, his arms locked around the handle of the broom in a gripping hug and legs nearly fused together at the ankles from the strength he was exerting trying to stay upright. His features, from what you could tell, at least, were just as tight. You caught a glimpse of a deep frown, furrowed eyebrows, and tightly closed eyes.

There was no time to feel guilty as you raced after him, keeping to the far right of his cyclone and out of the way of any flailing limbs in case he, Merlin forbid, decided to let go. This entire thing was a bad idea. The next time you saw Sebastian you were going to throttle him into next week. You weren’t stupid, you knew that he suggested this because he wanted you and Ominis to get to know each other more— ulterior motives aside, he just wanted to be a good friend and expand the blond’s horizons.

And now here he was, quite literally against the horizon.

What were you possibly thinking, agreeing to help him?

You weren’t thinking, was the thing. You were distracted by how his hair was ruffled in just the perfect way and his cheeks were that stupid, adorable shade of pink from the early spring breeze chilling his skin.

You prayed he could hear your voice over the wind roaring in his ears. “Ominis, you need to stop spinning!”

“I don’t bloody know how!” His voice sounded like it was coming from all directions at once.

Well, at least he stopped screaming.

“Unwrap your legs, it’s throwing off your inertia!”

“My what?” He questioned, his voice rocking back and forth as he got closer and farther from you in a constant pattern.

You shook your head, “Nevermind! Just do it!”

He hesitantly did as he was told, releasing the death grip he had on the broom with his thighs and unlocking his ankles. Sure enough, he stopped spinning.

He was still zipping back and forth across the stadium of course, but, as the saying goes, baby steps.

You flew next to him now, able to finally catch up with his motions and be within arms reach if things go wrong. His upper torso was still practically glued to the shaft of his broom, causing his increasing speed. At this point his wand was nothing more than a pretty accessory trapped between his clenched fingers— there was no way it was picking up anything to help the boy sense his surroundings better.

For a lack of better terms, Ominis was flying blind.

You called out to him again, trying to keep your tone gentle so as to not stress him out more. This was a very delicate situation; one wrong move and there would be a Slytherin shaped hole in the middle of the Quidditch field.

“Okay, Ominis. Now, lean away from the stick.”

He made a noise similar to a kneazle who just had its tail stepped on. “I can’t!”

Annoyance festered in your gut. “Yes, you can! Just loosen your grip. You’ll be okay, I promise!”

He scoffed— well, as close to a scoff as he could muster. “If I remember correctly, you said the same thing before we got into this mess. Bugger all your promise did, then!” The broom wobbled underneath him and his arms latched on tighter. “And what part of ‘I can’t’ do you not bloody understand? If I let go, I’ll fall!”

You groaned, throwing your head back in exacerbation. “Oh for the love of all things good—”

You had to think fast— things were getting much more complicated than you had originally imagined. Every lap back and forth across the arena was getting closer and closer to the trees that lined the tall walls of the Hogwarts grounds. One more lap and the boy was likely to slam into a tree before even being able to stop himself. The broom under you began to shift against your weight, feeling your rising panic wash through your body like an oncoming tide.

The time for gentleness had passed. It was time for action.

“Listen, I know you’re scared, but we are far past the time for proper broom etiquette. I’m going to need you to jump.”

The Slytherins head whipped in your direction faster than the wind slamming against your face. “Like hell I’m doing that!”

He faced forwards again, every muscle in his expression screaming trepidation. He knew you wouldn’t just tell him to jump if there wasn’t a very important reason to do so. Gods, he hated how much he trusted you already, even when you were telling him to do something that would most definitely get him killed.

“You’re actually trying to kill me. Sweet Merlin, my time has come.”

You felt bravery rear its head deep inside of you, turning your words to stone— solid, sturdy, and twice as strong as the cement holding your grand school together.

“Ominis, if you don’t jump right now, that tree you’re speeding towards is going to kill you— not me. You have to jump. I will catch you.” You swallowed against the nerves lodged just under your jaw, mustering all the courage you had into your next statement— words forged in steel stronger than damascus itself. “I swear on my life, I will not let you fall.”

You could see every nerve in his body fire off all at once, scorching his entire existence in a flame of fear. He seemed to be struggling against himself, fighting the urge to go down with the ship and instead listen to your words. He knew that you would not fail him; your time together may have been short, but your desire to help others— your desire to help him of all people— was something that even he could not balk at. The thought of death reared its ugly head, and the young Gaunt knew that if he did not act soon, he truly would be just another pretty dead thing for nature to swallow whole. A lovely way to go, he thought, just got today.

With a lack of grace that he was becoming accustomed to as of today, his body moved before his mind could process what it was doing, and he jumped.

Against the screaming wind in his ears as he began his plummet to the ground, he heard the school broom slam into the tree just beyond the pitch, its once well used, but sturdy, wood splintering in every direction before tumbling to the grass below.

“Levioso!”

With one swish of your wand, you caught the boy in the air, carefully lowering him onto the back of your broom and allowing his shaking arms to snake around your waist before gently gliding the both of you to the ground. He’s off faster than a flash of lightning once he can feel the grass below his feet, wrenching his hands away from your wool sweater like it burned him before lowering shakily to his knees and all but toppling over against the earth. His chest heaved with each inhale and collapsed against every exhale as his unseeing eyes stared above, silently thanking every god he could name that he survived what he had ultimately decided he should not have. The relief from the both of you was palpable in the air, coating the once cool spring breeze with a blanket of stillness. Unsure if you should leave him to his thoughts or help him up like any friend would— if you could even call yourself a friend of his anymore— you decided to find a safe middle ground by carefully making your way over to him, steps sure but soft like one would approach a nervous puffskein in case he decided that he didn’t want your company ever again, and laid down an arms distance away.

Unlike what you thought he would do, Ominis seemed to relax a bit once he felt your presence, letting his shoulders fully fall against the grass and allowing the tenseness that had befallen him to release into the world around him. Now that he was on land again, he felt safe— safe next to you, lying silently next to him underneath the afternoon sun.

It was a while before either of you spoke, just letting the calming presence of nature around you seep into your bones like flowers to sunlight.

“I am never doing that again.” Ominis said, a sigh heaving from his chest as he fisted the soft earth below his fingers.

You laughed lightly, a tiny thing that got caught in the breeze much too quick for the boy’s liking. “I do not blame you— nor will I make you.”

He chuckled in return, closing his eyes and fully basking in the last dregs of warmth breaching over the horizon before the chill of night settled across the Hamlet. “I’m pleased to hear that. It wouldn’t be a very friend-like thing to do to attempt my murder again.”

A smile broke across your face at his words. “You’d still consider me a friend? I thought for sure that little excursion would have put a damper on whatever iota of a cordial relationship we had going for us.”

He scoffed, reaching across the space between the both of you until he located your fingers. He took them into his own, intertwining his hand with yours. “I have had friends put me in much more dangerous situations than that, I assure you.”

Ominis leaned his head to the side, an easy smile stretching the corners of his lips as he spoke his next words directly to you. “My dear, I fear you’re stuck with me now.”

Your heart sputtered in your chest, tripping over its beats like a newborn hippogriff before it learns to fly. Heat painted your cheeks the color of the sunset far above your heads.

“I think I’m alright with that,” you said, voice taking that softness that you’ve come to realize was reserved just for him.

He did not let go of your hand until night had fallen and he safely walked you back to your common room, your broom tucked under his free arm while you led him with the other. Upon reaching the door he turned, fully facing you and smiling so sincerely that your heart nearly stopped for a second time within the span of an hour. His wind-tossed hair fell against his pale forehead, cascading just above his resplendent eyes and making him look like a renaissance painting.

His words only reached your scrambled mind once he turned to leave. “Until next time, lily pad.”

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

This was going to become a problem.

like what you read? here's more!

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orqheuss · 3 months

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Even the iron still fears the rot PART 5

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

This is definitely moving in a more "female rage" route...oops.

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Summary:

Sebastian mourns. Ominis dreams. You rage. A letter falls from the sky, bearing a single line of text, an ominous message, and a gift that sets your world ablaze. Let the games begin.

Word count: 6.6k

Tags: Self deprecating thoughts, actions similar to self-harm, mentions of torture, emetophobia, illness, infection, disassociation, arson, child abuse, verbal degradation regarding a physical disability, graphic depictions of injury, blood, nightmares, feminine rage (kind of. it's still mostly gender neutral)

Read at your own discretion

AN: Surprise! New part. There was already so much happening in this chapter, and I wanted the action to get its own spotlight. So, one more part. Sorry...

It had been a long flight back from Hogsmeade, probably the longest flight you had ever experienced. Tears clouded your vision as you flew, the small droplets following you like staccato music notes to your song of sorrow. You did not know how long you had stayed in that clearing, cradling a little black button against your chest as if it could tell you the secrets of the universe. Nothing could quell the anguish deep in your chest, throat hoarse from your wails and knees dirty, caked in mud and flecks of dried blood— the blood of your best friends. All you could think about was how scared Ominis and Sebastian must be, trapped somewhere for what must be nearly two days at this point, starving and cold and alone, so very alone without the thought of someone coming for them. They didn’t know how hard you were searching for them. They knew how much you cared for them— that you would do anything to keep them safe. It was a small comfort to think that they had hope of rescue. That being said, fear does fickle things to the mind, even to the strongest of people. You could only imagine the torment that they must be going through at the hands of the villains after you.

Desperate to erase the pain harbored in your chest, you flew. There were no feelings in the sky, no sadness in the wind caressing your face with its gentle gale. There was only freedom before you. Free from your binds as a Keeper of ancient magic— free from the responsibilities placed upon your shoulders before you even understood what they meant. You were much too young for this level of sadness, not even sixteen and having to deal with the possibility that your two best friends may very well die at the hands of your enemies. You shouldn’t even have enemies. You should be studying in the library with your friends, laughing with a confidence that could only be found in a young, obnoxiously mischievous teenager— like you were the sunlight that warmed the day and the moonrays that cooled the night. Instead, you were dealt cards that you had never seen before for a game that had no rules to follow.

Once you touched down on the grassy lawn of the bell tower courtyard, you were angry. More angry than you had ever felt before. A ravenous hunger for revenge scorched through your veins and licked at the ancient magic swirling in your chest, pushing and pulling the magic to and fro like it was trying to call forth an army of unimaginable disaster. Static swam in your ears against the pounding of your heart as you ran through the hallways of the imposing school, throwing yourself around corners and fighting against the crowds of students that were all too aware of the terrible fortune that has befallen your existence. All they saw was a poor, heartbroken bastard that had just lost their closest friends— a pitiful excuse of a human in search of a hopeless miracle. Fools, all of them. They didn’t know the velocity of pain slamming itself against your heart. They didn’t know that your world was falling apart faster than you could put the pieces back together. You could feel their whispers against your back, their eyes boring into your skin like you were a freak show in the traveling circus. The names of your lost loves followed you like a feral beast tracking the scent of blood. How dare they utter the names of your beloved. How dare they view you as helpless— as weak. For too long had these neanderthals viewed you as less than because of your house, your upbringing, your name. You would show them, you’d show them all.

Even still, under that blistering, that blinding anger, there was a deep and foreboding sadness inside of you. It called to you— implored you to cease the rapid pounding of your feet against the linoleum floor and quell the explosive hatred bubbling in your gut. You knew that it wasn’t the fault of any of your peers that Ominis and Sebastian had been taken. It was yours. You were the reason they were gone. If anyone deserved your ire, it was yourself. Skidding to a stop near the main entrance to the hall of Herodiana, you nearly dropped to your knees as the thought ricocheted through your brain like a bullet. The melancholy inside was right. It was your fault. There was no one else to blame but yourself. How could you be so dense? You were the one with ancient magic, after all. You had ended Ranrok and his rebellion. You had murdered Victor Rookwood. You had killed countless dark witches and wizards on your pillage towards righteousness. Who were you to think your power as something godly— something blessed by the saints, something divine? They had cast the first stone, but you had made it hale boulders. You needed to run, to hide from the outside world. You were a monster. An omen of death. Anyone close to you was as good as dead— Fate had made that fact inordinately clear.

Through it all, there was only one place you wanted to be, and that was cradled in the arms of your Slytherins.

Fortunately, if you could even call it that, there was another place that you could go to feel close to them. Just the thought of the Undercroft sent a pang of guilt through your chest, making your eyes move against your will to the lonely corner where your favorite blond liked to nap in the sunshine. Steel stronger than anything goblin forged grew cold in your eyes, the embers of the fresh metal dying out with only the sound of your shattering heart as fanfare. Grief and rage swirled in your gut like a demented, Hadestic hurricane. Fire threatened to spill from your panting lips with each step you took, your soul unable to even comprehend the pain resting just behind your teeth— the ache of grief— the burn of fury.

But still, on you ran— ran to the safety of the closest you could get to your home.

The gun-metal gate of the Undercroft creaked open with a sickening wail, like it too mourned the loss of its original owners. Your feet felt like lead as you finally skidded to a stop— your knees threatening to give up and let your weight tumble to the ground as waves of memories assaulted your mind. This was the room that you fell in love in; the room that held so much of your devotion to the two Slytherin boys you befriended what felt like years ago; how quickly they had wormed their way into your naive heart. It was a scary thought that they had this much power over you, even though it had only been a little over a year since you met the pair. Melancholia began to cloud your vision again, tears threatening to spill down your already reddened and wind-raw cheeks. At any other point you would think you were going insane with how often your emotions were shifting— anger, to despair, to worry, to anger again— sadangrysadangrysad— boundless, cosmic. But, for once the chaos felt right.

It felt like home.

Your footfalls were as loud as stone falling down a cliffside as you trudged around the space, your steps shaky and unsure like a newborn babe. To your right you could hear the ghost of Sebastian pouring over Slytherin’s spellbook— not a pleasant time, but how you loved the sound of his voice when he was excited. Just over your shoulder you felt the misty presence of Ominis as he practiced his potions. He was still rubbish at it, but it was rare to see him so disheveled, like an eclipse that only came around once in a lifetime— it was also quite cute when he scrunched his nose in frustration. You finally reached the desk you sat at so many times before, the three of you leaning over the roughly sanded wood with homework strewn across the surface as you argued over the answer to a Divination question you were all puzzled by. Everything was painful now; no happy feelings fluttering in your chest at the sight of the brunette’s discarded ties or the blond’s evergrowing collection of quick-note quills. Your heart ached at the realization that it was beginning to feel hopeless, like you would never feel happiness again for as long as you lived— you wouldn’t if you never saw their smiling faces once more. Just once, that was truly all you were asking for. Alas, the gods above did not grant miracles to people like you. They did not bless the heretics.

From inside your robe, the two wands tucked safely in your breast pocket burned.

An uncomfortable feeling began to grow in your chest, the feeling of despair soon taken over by an all encompassing rage. Flames licked at your ankles and ash grew thick in the air— you choked against the sludge building in your lungs. Even if the room was as cold as the Arctic, not a bit of heat in the large, echoing space, you felt like you were burning alive. With trembling hands, you gingerly— carefully— took the two magical instruments from your pocket and placed them onto the mahogany table.

The world did not end quietly for you that day. It was big, and loud, and infinite. It did not come from nowhere.

It came from you.

The only sound that could be heard over your heaving, ferocious breaths was the ricochet of crashing lumber against resolute stone. Screams lodged themselves in your throat as you furiously threw spell after spell around the space. Boxes lining the walls were sent splintering across the floor with one simple flick of your wrist, plooms of fire following soon after as you exploded the rubble. It was a catastrophe, that room. That once wonderful room that housed every piece of your joy— your true, unfiltered happiness. Now, your one remaining source of bliss was gone— ripped away from you far too soon. Your footsteps shook the ground as you paced across the space, your fingers frantically wracking through your hair and pulling at the roots, sending sparks of pain through your skull. The color around you seemed to fade into a blinding monochrome, painting your vision a startling black around the edges as your ire festered deep inside. If Ominis was here with you, he would chastise you for your incessant back and forth, grouchily complaining in that petulant tone of his that you were disturbing his peace; something he so rarely got, as he liked to remind you. You would smile in a sickeningly sweet way as you turned to face him, gesturing rudely before continuing your path. He would, somehow, know what you did, and would give you the same gesture in turn, a smirk turning the corners of his lips. Sebastian would laugh behind the pages of the thick tome he had decided to snatch from the library that day. You would tease him that if he kept reading like that he would need glasses one day soon. He would wave you off with a chuckle.

You could hear them all around you at that moment, the ghost of two complementary laughs filling the echoing space— one loud and boisterous, twinged the color of tree tops under your feet as you flew against the brilliant blue sky, one a subdued chuckle, jovial, but fragile, rare, mirth painting your world the color of sunsets over Loch Lomond.

How you longed to hear those sounds again.

Unable to hold it at bay any longer, the tsunami of your wails breached the delicate, raw skin at the back of your throat for the second time that day, sneaking through your tightly clenched teeth with small whimpers, each one increasing in volume as the seconds bloomed into minutes. Blood pooled in your mouth and threatened to make you choke on it.

Under all sounds, the two wands resting like sleep on the table hummed.

With one mighty breath— one deep and stuttered inhale, you screamed into the vast space. Your pain swam in the air like a thick granite-toned fog across the Clagmar coast, filling every corner of the room until you could only choke on the thick plumes. You wrenched the wands from the surface, each branch of wood still thrumming with the magic of its owner and carrying a distinct aura, something you once would have blushed at the notion of identifying so easily, and threw them across the room with every ounce of might you could muster. They bounced off the farthest wall from you before tumbling to the ground, the tiny sparks of magic sputtering out of each tip hissing against the dusty floor. You wanted to rip the world apart at the seams, scorch the very fabric of existence in your devastating rage. You wanted to devour the sky whole and spit out stars in its wake. Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned, and you did not fear Hell. You howled again, loud and long and lingering against the echoing cathedral ceilings as you wordlessly casted a spell of brimstone and fire. You held your wand steady in your hand, fingernails digging into your skin and drawing pebbles of blood to the surface, your steps turning your body in a small circle where you stood as you set every box, every table, every chair in the encompassing space ablaze. Flames roared to life around you as you fell to your knees within your personal pyre, sobs crescendoing to their highest peak as you mourned. Scattered papers fluttered to the ashen floor like embers in a steadily burning bonfire, tiny little stars reaching their hands upwards in hopes that they, too, would be looked at in wonder each night.

You were no closer to finding Ominis and Sebastian as you were when you first set off this morning. No clues could be found anywhere to signify where they could have gone— where they could have been taken. There was no guarantee if you would ever see them again.

A bit of parchment landed softly against where your hand was clenched on the ground— a touch of care in your monument of grief. Your eyes trailed downwards, catching on the smoldering corners of the piece of sheet music. A shaking hand entered your field of vision— yours, you realized— and hesitantly picked it up with vibrating fingers. Written neatly across the bars were the gentle curves of piano chords, each one tucked together like birds huddling for warmth in a tune you did not know. The handwriting was almost perfect, like it was printed in one of the many scores on the impressively stocked shelves of the music room, but there was still something distinctly imperfect; something alien, something human. Each note was slanted, like someone else was dictating what should be on the page and another noted it down. Some sections were crossed out ferociously, tiny dots of ink splattering with each harsh strike. Letting your eyes roam, new misty tears gathered on your lashes at the chicken scratch decorating the corner of the piece.

Property of Ominis, 1891.

You touched the ink gently, imagining it when it was freshly wet. Ominis did always like to write his name himself; everything else could be done with his quick-notes quill. There was something, he told you once, about writing out your own name on a piece of parchment. Labeling something with your identity in ink black as pitch and just as permanent. It was yours, he said. Not your families, not anyone else's. It belonged to you and you alone. He liked the idea of owning something that his family couldn’t touch.

The blond had notated one section, right near the end of the set of bars and crescendoing into the next, that garnered your attention. Someone else had drawn a crooked arrow that pointed to one of the half notes, a single sentence following just within the margin of the page.

This note is wrong.

The lettering was swirled slightly, like someone decided to learn cursive but gave up halfway through the lessons. The writer had a heavy hand; tiny drops of ink decorated the loops of their i’s and g. Each word was written like the person had something better to do, something more to jot down as their brain moved faster than their hand. A tear dripped onto the page, smudging the lettering as you recognized the handwriting.

Sebastian.

Just under it, another scratched sentence— the letters perfectly imperfect.

You can’t even read sheet music, you walnut.

Such a little thing, such a small detail, but oh how it meant the world to you. How much sorrow you could feel from two scribbles of words on a bit of parchment.

To anyone looking in from the outside, they would only see your grief. They would see your mourning in the tears that streaked down your ash covered cheeks— your agony in the wrinkles and dusty fingerprints adorning the pretty pastel yellow sweater under your tweed coat. They did not know the truth, though. You were out of tears— out of sobs and wails. All you felt now was blinding, incapacitating rage. You wanted to cry more, to scream and rip the paper clutched in your hands to shreds and wait until the universe granted you this one wish: to bring your boys home to you. But, there was no more time for that— no more wishes to come true, no more room inside of you for anything other than outrage. Fury. Hatred.

Revenge.

And so you stood up on your shaking legs, casting a wordless water charm to put out your flames. Your eyes glowed as the pyre dimmed, leaving only ash and ruin. True, opaque smoke tumbled towards the peaked roof of the hideaway, curling around each other with a sizzle and stray spark— an Oroborous of cataclysmic size. From within the circle of your own destruction, you couldn’t help but think that the room looked morbidly beautiful.

With the last iota of grace you could muster, you tucked the piece of music into your pocket, gingerly picking up the discarded wands once again— relishing just a bit in the warmth that still resided in each piece of magical bark— and tucked them where they should be in your pocket.

A wolfish, wicked grin stretched across your face as you stared at the carnage you made. Your shoulders straightened— dangerously so, unnaturally so. A new sparkle grew in your eyes— something deadly and unfamiliar, but so damn right.

If a fight was what they wanted, a fight is what they would get.

You were a beast— bloodthirsty with an insatiable appetite for slaughter.

You were not an option. You were inevitable. A horror beyond their comprehension. An omen. A threat. They would soon understand that. You would make them understand that.

They would pray for mercy with their pretty words, and then you would sink your teeth into their throat and rip each of them out until there was nothing left.

It was a common occurrence for Sebastian to take care of Ominis after his nightmares. It was amazing that he didn’t have to do it more often, honestly. He was always a perceptive boy; it was one of his best assets. So, when Ominis would wake up in the dead of the night, his breathing heavy and panting with a sheen of sweat coating his clammy skin, it wasn’t hard to figure out the young Gaunt’s secret. For the longest time the boy refused to tell Sebastian anything— he was ever so insecure, after all, and he did not want anyone to know that about him. But even still, the brunette slowly, carefully, chipped away at his barriers piece by piece until the blond would let him crawl into bed with him and hush his muffled cries.

It took him even longer to pry what the nightmares were about out of the boy— nearly three years of waking to Ominis screaming himself conscious. Sebastian knew that the Gaunt family was not a kind one. Being a pureblood wizard himself, just not of the same pedigree, as the sacred family would say, he was well aware of the politics surrounding blood purity and the cruelty of the families that practiced those types of ideals. What he did not know was how unfeeling they could be towards their own children. The Sallow family was one of love— happiness. Joy seeped through the cracks in their threadbare manor by the coast and coated every inch of their meager belongings. He learned of care, of family, of belonging— most importantly, he learned what it meant to learn. There was never a night that his mother and father did not bid the twins goodnight without a kiss on the head and a story. Ominis did not grow like that. The Gaunt house was cold, both physically and emotionally. It rested atop of a lone hill just on the outskirts of wizard London, the walls as tall as the clouds and the wards surrounding the property even higher— a house of ghosts. He never knew what it meant to play, to run through the grass and jump into the creek just beyond his fence. Instead, he learned of pain, of neglect, and, of course, of fear. The one thing that they had in common was that they both learned the meaning of the word “family,” even if they had been taught very different definitions.

So, when Ominis awoke in the middle of the night with a howl trapped in his throat and a plea of mercy towards his father at the tip of his tongue, Sebastian did not ask any questions. It was not a time for answers, it was a time for comfort. For care. For kindness.

After the screams had subsided and the tears had dried on the blonds boney cheeks, it was some of the most peaceful times the two boys had ever shared.

Sebastian was warmth to Ominis. He was hugs in the middle of the night and waking up to his arm around his waist. He was the calm after the tremulous storm in his mind. And in turn, Ominis was Sebastian’s balm. He kept the heat within him from roaring out in a grand blaze with a simple touch of his hand. He was his beginnings and his ends— his softly whispered fable in front of the common room fireplace. Above all else, he was his good.

It killed them both inside, a little bit more each second that passed, that they couldn’t comfort the other. Ominis had expressed his anguish last night as he listened to Sebastian’s shaky breaths and the stuttered rhythm of his heart as he drifted into a sickly sleep. Now, it was the freckled boy’s turn to listen out for the other. For the longest time he wasn’t sure if the blond was even alive; his chest was that still. It took an hour at least— an hour of the youngest Sallow twin sobbing and calling out for his love— for Ominis to make the smallest sound. Sebastian didn’t hear it at first against the pounding in his skull. His skin was a sickly pale color at that point, sweat beading at his brow and trailing down the sides of his face even though it was hellishly cold in their dismal prison. Tremors shook his entire body, fighting against the hot that scorched just under his skin and the chill that permeated the air around him. The infection was getting worse. Much, much, worse. It was a miracle that he was still conscious— a miracle or his death. He would take either at that point.

Awash in terror and sickeningly macabre thoughts, it took him a moment to register movement from the other side of the room. He didn’t believe it at first; it must have been a trick of the light, or the breeze blowing through the dungeon had simply tossed Ominis’ hair like a lover smoothing it away from his face. But sure enough, his chest had begun to rise and fall at a faster rate. His breath pushed out of his bruised lungs with much more effort than what was normal. The tiny puffs of air coiled around the bars of his cage like a soul swallowed by the demons of Azkaban. Sebastian’s own panting stilled in his throat, finally registering that the blond was alive. Joy felt like the wrong emotion to be feeling then, but he couldn’t help the relieved smile that pressed at the corners of his mouth— couldn’t stop the nearly soundless laugh that tumbled from the very depths of his heart. How could he feel anything but elation knowing that Ominis had survived what some of the strongest Auror’s could not? Stars, he loved him. He loved him more than the sun loved the moon— more than ships loved a lighthouses song just off the shore. If his light was alive, if he was okay, then by Salazar, he could do anything. Sebastian felt the familiar feeling of hope fill his chest with butterflies for the first time in a very long while.

That was, until he heard the sounds coming from the boy just out of reach.

They started quiet, like the buzz of a crackling coal in a still fire. Tiny whimpers— the smallest iota of a sound. But then, they got louder. The coals caught ablaze once more, drowning the suffocating silence of their downy prison with clipped screams and harsh whines. It sounded like it pained the blond to even utter the noises breaching through his chattering teeth. The chilling realization washed over Sebastian like the icy waters of the black lake— Ominis was trapped in a nightmare. His heart sank once more, dread pooling just under his jaw and threatening to tear its way out of his sweat and dirt marred throat with its deadly sharp claws. He wanted nothing more than to take the young Gaunt into his arms and hold him close— to press his face against his blood soaked hair and shush his cries into the clammy skin at his collar.

That was Leona’s greatest torture, he realized. Keeping them apart. Just out of fingers reach.

His hope bled from him like the sea bled moonlight, and he let his body fall onto the stone wall just at his back, head resting in his shaking palms as his fingers fisted at his greasy, knotted hair. Soft sobs filled the still air once again.

Please, he prayed, hoping that his voice would somehow carry to the tall castle that seemed to be on the other side of the world. Please, come save us.

The nightmares always started the same. He was in the halls of the Gaunt manor, the dismal aura surrounding him stealing the joy from his soul and crushing his lungs with its banshee-like claustrophobia. He could feel the harsh grip of his older brother at his shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into his velvet dinner jacket and pressing bruises deep into his skin. He wasn’t sure what to make of the attention at first. Before it truly registered in his mind, it was almost familial the way Marvolo wrapped his arm around Ominis’ taut shoulders, steering him away from his path towards the library and instead leading him deeper and deeper into the foreboding manor halls. No words were spoken between the two— conversation was rare between the pair… between any of the Gaunt leaders and the small boy, really. He was a pariah in his own home. The black sheep hiding in a den of wolves.

Ominis recalled it being a fairly normal day. He had had tea with his dear Aunt Noctua just an hour before, only stopping their conversation when the sun had begun to set and the air around them had begun to chill. That was when he found himself meandering his way towards the grand library at the center of his abode. That is, until his brother so rudely interrupted him. He remembered feeling unsure at the sudden attention from the elder Gaunt sibling. Marvolo tended to ignore him as of late, instead favoring his father’s company as they discussed his work at the Ministry. He was quite curious as to where the taller of the two was taking him, but he knew better than to ask questions, instead electing to simply follow and see what panned out. All he knew was that his brother’s fingers felt piercing against his skin.

The memory played out behind his eyes like a moving picture on the tall walls. It was one of those rare nightmares that Ominis could minutely picture what was happening around him. While he did not have the gift of sight, he had an active imagination when it came to visible stimuli. The halls of Gaunt manor, as he had been told before, were painted a muted olive tone with silver embellishments along the vaulted ceilings and dangling chandeliers above his head— like the sound of leaves rustling in the trees on a fall evening. The walls were lined with sentient pictures of his ancestors, dating all the way back to Salazar Slytherin himself. He did not know what his family truly looked like, but he knew some small specifics. Soft yellow hair, nearly white in some lantern light. Strong features across their pointed faces. Unnervingly blue eyes and a haunting stare to match. All things that he had in common with everyone on his family tree— more of a tangled bush than anything, he liked to joke to himself. They were unusually quiet that night, not even a whisper of a scathing remark about his impairment to be heard in the hushed hallway.

Strange, Ominis had mused to himself.

The vision shifted then, the green and silver foyer falling away to a dark and dismal room. The air was startlingly still in the youngest Gaunt’s ears, not even the softest breeze could be felt in the echoing space. Everything around him was black— no description to go off of in his mind for what he was experiencing. There were others in the room, but even they were silent. He could smell his mothers strong perfume, something heady and obnoxious in his sensitive nose. The harsh smell of his fathers cigars mingled unpleasantly with the scent of the overly powdery notes. Beyond them he could place something unfamiliar— something striking and metallic, like old galleons at the bottom of a coin purse. It reminded him of when he had scraped his knee earlier in the week on the patio outside. Copper. Iron.

His breathing stilled in his chest.

Blood.

It was then that he heard the panting breaths off to his left, the cadence foreign to anyone in his bloodline. The breathing was shallow in nature, with a slight stutter between hisses of pain. He could not sense any new magic signatures in the space. Something was wrong. Very, very, wrong.

His father stepped forwards then, pulling him from his brother’s grasp and replacing the bite of Marvolo’s fingers with his own as he steered him farther into the room. He led him to what he thought was the middle of the room before letting go and turning to face the boy, his form towering over Ominis like a dragon to a simple goat. The boy fought against the shiver that threatened to move through him at the intensity of the Gaunt patriarch’s stare.

“Ominis.” His father’s gravelly tone scratched at his ears. “It is time that you prove your worth in this family.”

He was puzzled. Had he not done so already? He was their flesh and blood. Surely that was enough?

“What do you mean, father?” He said, confusion lacing his young voice.

Annoyance shed from every corner of the room— all three of his closest family members. His anxiety began to subtly increase, a knot beginning to form in his throat. Had he said something wrong?

“I mean,” his father hissed. “It is time that we show you why we are the strongest, the most widely known, the most feared wizarding family to date.”

The stillness around him was cut by the sharp swipe of Erebus Gaunt’s wand as he threw the first spell.

“Crucio.”

Ominis had never heard screams that loud before. They were sharp, painful, terrified. He covered his ears against the harshness of it, his eyes slamming shut as he processed what just happened. There were two distinct voices calling out, he noticed. One higher— feminine. The other lower in tone and with a more masculine lilt. They wailed in agony from the spell, its electric current pulsing in their bodies as it burned away the blood in their veins. Pleas of mercy filled the room like a never ending current. The boy’s arms were ripped away from his head, forcing him to listen to every sound of anguish. Each howl was like a blinding light straight into his frontal cortex. Tears pooled in his eyes at the pure agony soaking him to the bone.

Just as quickly as it began, it was over. The youngest Gaunt’s body trembled in place as silence bathed the room in blackness once again.

His voice shook against the words escaping from his clamped throat. “What— what was that?”

Marvolo’s voice came from over his shoulder. “Pest control.”

Ominis’ heart nearly gave out when he grasped his brother’s meaning. Muggles.

He shook his head rapidly, taking two stumbling steps back before bumping into the strong chest of his father. Two hands clamped down roughly on his shoulders, holding him in place. All the puzzle pieces floating around in his muddled mind fit together with a sickening click.

“No.” He breathed, his panic growing stronger and stronger by each passing second. “No! I won’t do it! This is too much— you’re asking too much!”

His father’s grip tightened, his fingernails digging fresh indents into his collar. “You will not question your father, boy.” He spit the word like an insult.

Ominis shook his head, fighting against the arms holding him in place. Frightened tears spilled down his cheeks. All he could hear against the blood pounding in his ears was the weak cries of the couple at his feet, begging him for mercy.

His mother finally spoke, her voice resigned and twinged with irritation. “Just get on with it, Erebus. We haven’t got all night.”

His father growled above him. “You will hold your tongue, Catarina.” He turned his attention back to the shivering boy clamped under his bruising grip. “Cast the spell, boy. I will not ask twice.”

Ominis felt a slender piece of wood be shoved into his hand.

He shook his head again, terror flooding his tiny, ten-year-old body. “Please, father. Don’t make me do this.” He dropped the wand onto the floor, listening to it roll away from his feet.

As quickly as it began it was over. His father released him, harshly shoving him to the cold granite ground. The blond caught himself before his face hit, his hands outstretched and nearly sliding away against the blood that bloomed across the floor. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Erebus Gaunt’s footsteps rang in his ears as he paced away from his hunched form, the thumps only ceasing for a moment as they were replaced by the clatter of wood against tile. His deep, foreboding sigh filled the entire room like the hiss of a snake.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, boy.” He said, his tone almost sounded sympathetic if Ominis didn’t know any better. “Know that it was you who forced my hand.”

He could only puzzle what it meant for a stagnant moment before his entire world came crashing down around him.

“Crucio!”

Pain. Unimaginable pain. Excruciating. Constant. Incapacitating. That was all he felt. That and betrayal— heartbreak. Never had they hurt him like this before. Nothing physical, at least. Words can leave just as harsh of a sting on your soul as hands can. This was new, though. His very being was on fire, like the strings that kept him tied together inside were being ripped apart by the hands of the Fates. His blood boiled under his skin— his tongue felt like it was as thick as fresh cotton and as heavy as steel. It was a miracle he didn’t bite through it. The magic licked at every bit of him, every pore and hair follicle, like a rabid dog. He had never been burned before, but Ominis was sure that even the touch of the hottest coals in all of Tartarus itself would hurt less than this. If he was able to see before this, he would be twice as blind by the end. He was sure that if he opened his eyes— his mouth— his insides would leak out like melting ice at the bottom of a glass.

Through it all, he thought he heard a scream. A small part of him hoped it was his mother, begging father to stop. Only when the pain finally ceased and he felt how raw his throat had become did he realize he was only hearing himself.

The tinkle of wood against the granite mosaic was familiar to him now when his father dropped the wand next to his trembling hand. The world felt muddled around him— too much, but also too little against his skin.

“I tell you again, Ominis.” His father’s voice was like shattering glass. “Prove to me that you are worthy of the life we are providing you.”

As much as his heart bled— his soul screamed and pleaded against the hand wrapping around the wand— he knew that this was life or death now. Torture or be tortured— kill or be killed. He stood on shaky legs, a hand clenched around his stomach like his insides would tumble to the floor if he relieved the pressure there. His already overactive senses kicked into overdrive. The blood covering his once pristine clothes smelled twice as strong as before. The sobs of the poor muggles his family had taken from their home grated against his ringing ears with a startling clarity. The wood in his left hand— much too big for his small fingers— felt like a ten pound weight. Everything was too much. He had to make it stop— everything had to stop.

All he wanted was for it to stop.

He cast the spell.

This all was the same, of course. Every nightmare was the same.

This one, though, was an anomaly.

Because, instead of the voices of the two muggles that he was forced to torture, all he heard was the screams of you and Sebastian.

From the sky came a note. Nothing special— no identifiable penmanship, no return address, no nomenclature. Just your name printed neatly across the front.

Inside the old, yellowed envelope were two things. One, a letter— a scrawl of some coordinates and the request to come alone, all signed with a swirled see you soon.

Huddled at the bottom, tucked into one of the corners, was the second thing— two things, really. Tied neatly together with a piece of twine, a delicate bow decorating it like a present on Christmas, was a bundle of hair. White and brown.

The wind around you howled as you summoned your broom to your hand. A storm was brewing— you didn’t know which was stronger, the one in the air, or the one inside of you.

Whomever sent the letter would find out soon enough. You thought about where you would hurt them first. As you kicked off the ground, the frigid gale answered everywhere.

AN: The wait won't be that long again, I promise!! Next part will be the last.

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