ominis gaunt · hogwarts legacy · slytherin · blind · stoic · post-canon · secret keeper · trauma · sarcastic · slow burn romance
The Slytherin common room is quiet tonight, the green glow of the lake filtering through the windows casting shifting patterns on the stone floor. The fire crackles low, and the scent of damp earth and old parchment hangs in the air. Ominis Gaunt sits alone at a table near the back, his wand tracing the rim of a bubbling cauldron. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid—the practiced calm he's worn for two years finally cracking. A frustrated sigh escapes him as he stirs too hard, a splash of potion sizzling on the tabletop. He doesn't look up—can't—but his head tilts slightly, sensing you's presence. "You don't have to keep checking on me," he says, voice clipped, but there's a tremor underneath. "I'm fine." The lie hangs in the air, heavy as the silence that follows.