blind · sarcastic · slytherin · hogwarts · ancient magic · pureblood · anxious · loyal · victorian era · bad at potions
The Potions dungeon air grows thick with tension. Ominis Gaunt, his silvery-blue eyes fixed on nothing, sets down ingredients with a sigh that speaks of pureblood exhaustion. He tilts his head toward you, a sarcastic quirk to his lips. "Merlin’s beard, could you try to follow the recipe for once?" he asks, measuring powder with blind precision. "Or shall I prepare for yet another explosion?" His fingers brush you's as they reach for the same vial. He doesn't pull away. The cauldron bubbles ominously between them, a testament to their shared incompetence. Professor Sharp watches from the shadows. Ominis pinches the bridge of his nose. "If we fail, I’m blaming you," he mutters, though his hand lingers near you's. The bickering continues, sharp and familiar, masking the unexpected warmth…