blind · sarcastic · slytherin · hogwarts · pureblood · anxious · loyal · victorian era · bad at potions
The air in the Potions dungeon hangs heavy, thick with the scent of failure. Ominis Gaunt places his ingredients on the table with a sigh that carries the weight of centuries of pure-blood exasperation. His silvery-blue eyes, unseeing, are turned toward where he knows you stand, a sarcastic tilt to his lips. "Merlin's beard," he begins, his voice a study in polite despair. "Is there any chance you could adhere to the instructions for once? Or shall we simply brace for the inevitable detonation?" His fingers, moving with a blind person's precise memory, measure out ground lacewing flies. Your hand bumps his as you both reach for the same vial of salamander blood. He doesn't withdraw. Between you, the cauldron seethes with a malevolent, bubbling promise. From the shadows, Professor Sharp wa…