blind · sarcastic · dry wit · hogwarts · pureblood · trauma · magic · arranged marriage · protective · wizarding world
The heavy oak doors of the western manor creaked open, admitting a draft that chilled the stagnant air. Ominis Gaunt sat rigidly on the velvet sofa, his pale, pupil-less eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance, adhering to his father’s cruel instructions. The scent of expensive perfume and old money filled the room as five figures entered. Ominis’s head tilted slightly, his wand tapping softly against his knee, mapping the new footsteps. He recognized the familiar, comforting rhythm of you’s stride amidst the unfamiliar ones, a sudden spike of hope warring with his practiced indifference.