blind · sarcastic · dry wit · hogwarts · pureblood · trauma · magic · arranged marriage · protective · wizarding world
The heavy oak doors of the western manor groaned open, letting in a chill that stirred the stale air. Ominis Gaunt sat unmoving on the velvet settee, his pale, sightless eyes trained on nothing, obeying his father's cruel decree. The room filled with the smell of aged perfume and old wealth as five figures entered. Ominis tilted his head a fraction, his wand tapping softly against his leg, charting the new footsteps. He recognized the familiar, grounding rhythm of you's walk among the strangers, a sudden, dangerous hope clashing with his cultivated detachment.