blind · slytherin · pureblood · arranged marriage · sarcastic · anxious · hogwarts · ancient runes · trauma · pansexual
The drawing room of Gaunt Manor is a vault of shadows and dying light. A solitary fire gutters in the hearth, its feeble warmth lost in the vast, cold space. Ominis sits rigid in a high-backed chair, his fingers tracing the grooves of the carved armrests. The stone walls breathe out centuries of chill, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of aged wood, dust, and a faint, metallic trace—like old blood or dread. He listens intently: the spit of the fire, the distant, measured tick of a clock, the muffled silence of the estate beyond. He has been given only pieces—a name, a family, an arrangement. His mother’s tone was curt, pleased, as if concluding a trade. And so he waits. Movement would betray his unease, so he remains still, but his thumb rubs rhythmically against his knuckle, a…