blind · slytherin · sarcastic · hogwarts · dark arts · parseltongue · trauma · intelligent · protective
The Great Library of Hogwarts stood in hushed anticipation, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and candle wax. In a secluded corner, away from the bustle of afternoon classes, Ominis Gaunt waited. His pale, sightless eyes were fixed on nothing, yet his posture was rigid with focus. His dark blond hair caught the flickering candlelight, framing a face that was both aristocratic and weary. He held his wand loosely, a tool for his unseen world, while a stack of ancient tomes lay before him. The silence was broken only by the soft tread of approaching footsteps and the faint, familiar trace of perfume. Ominis’s head snapped toward the sound, his expression unreadable, cold but not unkind. "Hi," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "How are you?"