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ps-cactus · 2 days ago

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Shades of Silver Lining - Ch. 5.1 - posted ✅

Ch.4 <- | -> Ch.5.2 | the first post aka story teaser + tags

word count: 4700 ✨ [ AO3 ] ✨ [ Wattpad ]

a/n: Huge thanks to @accio-bagel for beta reading! The whole story is rated MATURE for various forms of traumas and violence. Tags and trigger warnings specific for this chapter: Main: Family Conflict, Toxic Family Dynamics. MOSTLY NOT EXPLICIT: Physical Abuse, Parental Abuse, Parental Neglect, Sibling Abuse. Also: Self-Doubt, Guilt, Occasionally BITTERSWEET, ESCAPE PLANS, Hurt/COMFORT, Internal Conflict, Manipulation, Coping Mechanisms, PTSD Symptoms, Moments of Self-Loathing, Mentions of Pureblood Supremacy, Mentions of Arranged Marriage, Mentions of Alcohol.

And the last one - I'm sorry.

Summary: Several scenes of Ominis’ days in the Gaunt manor, where he is burdened the most by the constant reminder that he’s still under his family’s control. Each forced conversation is a careful dance around his father’s suspicions and his brother's hostility. Ominis clings to the thought of returning to Hogwarts and the people he trusts, counting down the days until he can finally break free. He struggles to keep a hold on his own hopes, but every single step in this house feels like walking on ice that is thinner than ever.

First time I post whole chapter on Tumblr, let's goo:

Eighteen months and twenty-two days.

Ominis paused, his hand brushing against the slightly scuffed bannister. Only half an hour here, and the usual eerie cold of the manor already chilled him to the bone, more than the frosty January drizzle had. He listened carefully, yet all he could hear were the soft rustling of the rain outside and the mild bustle from the dining room below. His wand subtly indicated the nearest objects, that were undeniably motionless.

"Sure the letter isn't an option?"

"It's far better if they know about this directly from me, Alyn. That I had to speak with the Auror."

"Sorry, we shouldn't have…"

"No, in fact, it's advantageous. He would've summoned me today regardless. He made it very clear."

He gained some precious moments to build a defence for Alyn from Marvolo and to shield himself from Father's suspicions. Until he graduated and could truly vanish from their reach, it was safer to avoid any provocations, he knew it all too well.

Ominis hurried down the stairs, hesitating briefly at the dining room door. Entering felt like stepping onto uncertain ice, unsure if it would hold. But for the safety of those he cared about, he took the step. Warm, dry air carried the rich scent of beef simmered in herby gravy, yet Ominis couldn't imagine forcing down a single bite of anything the House-elves were still arranging. His entire being felt like it had coiled into a painful knot of dreadful anticipation.

"Your father should be back soon," Merope Gaunt's voice carried across the big room. Mother's voice seemed more ghostly with each passing encounter, just as her presence. Ominis only gave her a short nod. From the sound, she was seated on a sofa opposite the fireplace. He had no desire to sit with her and instead stood near the fire, slipping his wand into his pocket immediately. Father disapproved of him holding a wand even a moment longer than necessary for navigation.

"You cannot change who they are, Ominis," a tender voice reminds him. He would gladly trade all the others that had ever echoed in this manor for that voice, its sincerity and gentleness. "I know it hurts. But what truly matters is that you're nothing like them."

The front door banged with a force that seemed to drive all the air from Ominis' lungs, the echo of heavy quick steps reverberating against groaning wooden planks. He straightened, turning away from the fireplace.

"Oh?" The footsteps halted at the threshold.

"Evening, Father." His hand wrapped firmly around the fingers of the other, that was now painfully missing the familiar weight of his wand.

"Splendid." The surprise in Ivraxus Gaunt's tone was overshadowed by the most natural irritation, ever ready to explode. "I suppose my owl will arrive here shortly, then."

Of course he knew. The uncertainty of what exactly Father might have known gnawed at him, but Ominis wouldn't risk initiating the conversation now, lest all his fragile plans collapse into ashes that might well entomb him. Heavy footsteps approached the table, followed by a harsh slap of papers on the cloth. His fingers didn't twitch, though Ominis could feel the strain of keeping them perfectly still.

The clink of the glass, the soft pour of liquid, the faint chime of a ring against the glass. A quiet swallow. All was expected. Ominis tried to focus on the fire's heat, which reassuringly climbed along his legs and up his spine.

A solid thud jarred the table.

"Where's Marvolo?"

"Upstairs, I believe. Ivy…" Mother's quiet words to the House-elf were cut short as the footsteps echoed from the staircase. "Oh, never mind."

The faint pull at his brow tightened, but Ominis caught it, forcing his face into calm stillness. The little good thing he experienced this summer was Marvolo staying abroad. His sister had visited briefly with her family, but at least he hadn't had to endure both siblings at once.

"Father, pleasure to see you." Marvolo's voice had taken on a richer timbre since they last met, the restrained insolence beneath the politeness remaining as distinct as ever.

The muffled "Mmhm," came into the glass.

"Would you mind signing this?" The crackle of parchment accompanied Marvolo's words. "Hah. Look who's—"

The hollow, muted thwack was paired with a clipped exhale. Ominis shifted his weight uneasily, hoping the movement would disguise the flinch that had rippled through his body.

"Enough. Sit." The words crashed like thunder, completing the heavy drumming of icy rain against the window.

Ominis knew he was normally capable of compassion. But at this moment in this house he only felt relief. It wasn't happening to him. Not yet, at least. Reluctant footsteps shuffled across the floor, ending in the soft scrape of fabric as Marvolo dropped onto the sofa.

"What happened?" Mrs Gaunt's voice, though surprised, remained barely audible.

"Three months. Three months of meticulous preparation for this contract—wasted. All because rumours reached my friends today that Potter is collecting papers to detain him. Or arrest him outright, should she succeed."

Mr Gaunt approached, pausing not far from Ominis. Thankfully—no, delightfully—the voice, that was more irritated than usual, was always aimed at the sofa. "Few would have the patience for such nonsense. I certainly won't."

"Wait… Arrest?" Echoed Mrs Gaunt.

"There was an arson in Hogsmeade. Fiendfyre. In Hogsmeade, of all places!"

One step closer to the sofa.

Marvolo scoffed. "Horrible. Perhaps they ought to try doing their jobs better for once."

Ominis felt as if the fire was slowly moving from behind him to within his chest. He genuinely wished that Aurors would do a better job. The faint rustle of cloth and the retreating footsteps marked Mrs Gaunt's departure across the room, to where a busy House-elf could still be heard aligning cutlery.

"Your name stirs trouble again. And I am left to field foolish questions about you. Again." Mr Gaunt's every word sent vibrations coursing through the room, rippling along the manor's walls, and deep into Ominis' very being. The glass landed with a clink on the side table. "A delightful predicament, wouldn't you—"

"You can't honestly think it was me."

The impatient step followed at once, and sofa legs creaked strainedly. A startled gasp and the feet scuffing against the floor made Ominis feel the grand room suddenly shrink to the size of a cramped closet, suffocating and unescapable.

"Interrupt me again, and you'll be cleaning up your own mess—and rotting in Azkaban shortly after."

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Marvolo's voice was void of its usual arrogance at last.

Sofa legs groaned again as the body was dropped back forcefully.

"How dare you insult this family with such reckless foolishness? Look at me when I talk to you."

"It's not on me. Whatever happened there. I only spoke with a couple of people yesterday. Mason—she didn't keep her end of the deal, so I just—"

"Did I ask about people? For Salazar's sake..."

And—nothing.

This nothing felt surreal, but it didn't last. Soon the sound of Marvolo's breath grew louder, quickening and breaking once with a grunt. Instinct, born of familiarity, quickly guided Ominis to what was unfolding. He had long believed Marvolo to be completely inept at Occlumency, especially when compared to their father's unfailing proficiency in Legilimency. Except for one time.

"Ah, I see…" Mr Gaunt murmurs, gripping the face of his younger son tighter. He is fascinated to realise physical contact can also be a pathway into the mind.

The feeling of his father's hand is horrifying. Ominis flinches faintly, but he knows not to fight back. The worst part isn't even the hand; it's the odd disobedience of his mind, slipping from his grasp. All he can think is how much he wants this to stop.

His eyelids flutter, but the tears never reach his father's quickly retreating hand.

"Agh! What the—?"

The Healer later warns Mr Gaunt against further attempts, pointing out that recovery will require some potent potions and considerable rest. They explain the damage was caused by the boy's unexpectedly strong mental resistance, while Ominis, unharmed but equally terrified, stands near them, only wishing to hide again and never be found.

"Well… We'll revisit this a bit later." Father's voice grew almost cautious, though the irritation lingered. Ominis inclined his head and even leaned forward a bit, fearing that something vital was slipping past him. Why wasn't he furious?

There only was the rustling of parchment as it was briskly straightened.

"Is ‘Authorization' truly so difficult for you to spell? And the seal, wrong. I'm not signing this, unless you're truly aiming for Azkaban and a thousand-galleon fine… Now you. Ominis. I know you visited the Aurors today."

He resisted the urge to step backwards right into the blazing fireplace. The weighty footsteps, pounding like a drumbeat, were approaching him this time. He had to keep his face neutral, his breathing steady. He had done nothing wrong today. He just had to make it clear now, and try to keep Marvolo away from Hogsmeade.

"I'm sure your conversation was riveting. Since you turned up before even getting my letter, I'd say you're eager to share. Go ahead."

"The Not-Involved One is their prime suspect." Ominis made sure to sound with deliberate clarity. "The Head Auror said it was reason enough to talk to me, as his brother, often seen in Hogsmeade. Though he—"

"Hardly grounds for interrogation. Did they have anything on you?"

Father stood right next to him. Too close. The door was precisely five steps away. Too distant, it might as well have been a mile. The hastily crumpled parchment hit the fire with a faint thump, the flames roaring briefly as they devoured it.

"No, they didn't," his voice felt foreign. It was crisp and detached, though Ominis felt as fragile and fleeting as that parchment disintegrating in the fire. "But it wasn't—"

"You're still underage, did you forget? They had no right to interrogate you without my consent and presence." The hand slammed against the mantel, too close to Ominis' shoulder. "I'll see to it that all your words are rendered inadmissible. Foster is in charge in Hogsmeade now, am I right?"

"Yes, it was Officer Foster who wanted to speak to me. Though, he—"

"He wanted to talk to you personally?"

"He did. And he seemed... prejudiced. It's as though he's more concerned with the suspect's name than anything else. I didn't realise I could refuse at first. So I told him I knew nothing of Marvolo's dealings, which is true, and left as soon as I realised he had no authority to keep me there and called it a ‘conversation.'"

A pause was filled by an impatient metallic chime against glass. Ominis was still outraged that Foster had chosen to treat Alyn as a suspect instead of giving her the help she needed, and to waste time threatening him simply because of his name. But he kept focused on staying motionless, keeping his fingers relaxed, all his face muscles steady.

"Nothing surprising," Mr Gaunt commented finally. "He never learns, does he?.. Must be the lingering effects of too many Stupefies. At this point, he's begging to be reminded of his limits… A ‘conversation', you say?"

The step closer brought the intrusive smell of firewhiskey to Ominis, as if frustration itself had a scent.

"That's what he called it. I'd say it was a threat disguised as a warning."

Father's heavy breathing lingered uncomfortably close. The rhythmic drumming of fingers against the mantelpiece hurt his head from the inside, but Ominis didn't dare take a step back. He had always wondered if he was simply imagining it, or if he truly could sense someone's gaze lingering on him. He'd read and heard of the unsettling feeling he was experiencing this moment—of being reached for, examined from a distance.

"Obviously, had you said something to embarrass yourself, I'd be adding your mess to the one I'm already cleaning up. But hear me now." A hand landed on Ominis' shoulder, sending an unpleasant jolt through him, every nerve alight with tension. "If you so much as breathe near an Auror again without my consent, your regret will far outlast theirs. Understood?"

"Of course."

The hand left his shoulder, and the scent of Firewhisky receded slightly, but the tension in his body lingered.

An exaggerated scoff drifted from the sofa. It wasn't loud, but it was enough. The flame from the fireplace seemed to have burst forth and swallowed Ominis whole at once.

"I imagine things might be easier if faces on Auror's records didn't show up near there, especially right before disasters."

He regretted the words before they'd fully left his mouth. Ominis hated losing control. He hated being here. There was too much audience for these words, but it was too late. He clenched his teeth as though that could pull the words back. Father hummed in agreement, which only made it worse.

"Full of words today, aren't you? Desperate for some attention? Pathetic." The distant words slithered out, their hiss betraying them as Parseltongue. The fire blazed wildly in Ominis' chest, and on his cheeks, too dangerous for the fragile ice he still felt beneath his feet. He had to stay quiet, be smarter, but—

"Mirror much?"

This time, Ominis regretted more than just this stupid inability to hold back. Shifting into Parseltongue could happen unconsciously. The sensation of hissing words on his tongue was even more nauseating than the oppressive smell of firewhiskey.

A sharp movement disturbed the air right in front of his face. Ominis blinked, unable to suppress the flinch, though it was nothing more than a gesture near him.

"Get out. Both of you," Father's words were also hissing now, but quicker, lashing, his firm steps already striding decisively toward the table.

Skipping meals was nothing unusual here and Ominis couldn't welcome it more today. He didn't really trust this new tendency of his father's, noticed over the summer, as mother's health deteriorated more than ever—to dismiss rather than punish outright—though he couldn't deny it suited him.

"Actually..."

Ominis had barely reached for his wand when he froze again. The heavy scrape of a chair against the floor grated through the room.

"Marvolo, you wait. Ominis, I said, out. Now."

~~~ // ~~~ // ~~~ // ~~~

Ominis couldn't shake the chill, even in his supposedly warmest pyjamas. This small fireplace was never enough for his spacious room, and a warming charm wouldn't last through the night, so he was leaning over the dresser, searching for the warmest socks. His thoughts mirrored his hands, rummaging, restless: what had Father discovered? Did Marvolo have some brilliant plan? Or was he really not involved? Which one of these possibilities was more ridiculous?

Once he'd found a thick enough pair of socks, Ominis slammed the drawer shut with force. The old, unsteady furniture wobbled precariously, and he had to hold it steady with his hand and take a deep breath. The evening hadn't turned out so badly, actually. Without dragging anyone else into it he seemed to make his father consider banning Marvolo from Hogsmeade. Also, Foster now was one of the primary focuses of blame. Ominis felt no real sorrow about that; a man in Foster's position should understand the implications of his words and actions.

He climbed under the blanket, hoping that the weariness would allow him the relief of dreamless rest.

Eighteen months and twenty-two days. By tomorrow evening, he'd already be at the Great Hall, just in time to enjoy a proper dinner. He would be happy even to hear Reyes yelling at the Quidditch team, demanding they add more meat and greens to their plates.

And after that, he'd escape to the Undercroft. Alyn would prepare little cards with a rune on the one side and lecture notes on the other. At some point, when exchanging these cards, his hand would accidentally brush against hers—always so soft and warm—and linger. She wouldn't pull her hand away, and he wouldn't apologise, because in these rare moments of being alone, they wouldn't have to.

It seemed as though ages, not just months, had gone by since the first time he sat next to her in class.

"Sure. It's just a bit… unexpected," Alyn says before Charms as Ominis slides into the seat beside her. He pointedly ignores this remark, much as he keeps ignoring Sebastian—he's far from ready to deal with whatever Sallow's been trying to say these days, after... The thought brings a bitter taste, but Alyn's presence, as the only one who understood, made it a little easier to bear.

He thinks that lately life has taken on a wild unpredictability, like how she's somehow the only person left he can stand to be near. Out loud, though, he says only, "Might I borrow your Slowing Charm notes for a moment?"

The knocking returned Ominis from the class back to his bedroom, making him sit up. The sensation of his heart pounding wasn't comforting anymore, but growing sickeningly uneasy.

"Yes?"

"Master Ivraxus is asking for Master Ominis, sir," came a high-pitched, slightly trembling voice from beyond the door.

"What, now?"

"Yes, Master. Right away, sir. In the library."

A muffled pop told Ominis the elf was gone. As he left the little comfort his blanket and slightly warmed room offered, a shiver crept through him again. He knew more questions would come sooner or later and had the answers ready. However, the urgency of this request unsettled him deeply, to say the least. Something was off.

Ominis approached the stairs when he paused, noticing the subtle warning hum of his wand. Awareness struck in a split second, but there was no time to act—the Full Body-Bind curse had already taken hold. The cold stone floor caught him, its freezing surface pressing hard against his spine. His head buzzed, drowning out the sound of unhurried footsteps circling him, but he would always recognise them unmistakably.

The scene played out like something familiar as well. Familiar to the point of dread. His mind was clawing at Finite, even though he knew full well it was useless without the simplest wand movement.

Marvolo crouched beside him. "A little rat, aren't you? ‘Faces on records.' Disgusting." His wand jabbed against Ominis' chest. "Too bad you didn't tumble down those stairs—but that's something we can still fix."

The weight of the wand tip pushed Ominis fully into the memory that had already been creeping over him.

Small and vulnerable, his younger self trembles as the heartless laughter reverberates around him. The floor feels impossibly cold, slick with sweat and tears. He isn't immobilised, yet it offers no advantage—he is completely lost. The exact same wand presses suddenly against his chest, and one brief word burns into every nerve of his body at once.

"Mute now, are we? How tragic." Ominis couldn't hold onto the meaning of the words near him; they drifted away, overshadowed by the urgency of the memory. "I've got nothing to do with that. Is making me look bad in front of Father just a little hobby of yours now?"

The grip on his pyjama shirt pressed against his skin with brutal force. The discomfort was sharp enough to make Ominis try to clung to this sensation, desperately wishing it could drown out the other pain.

"What's going on there?" The distant voice combined with the weight of the fist pressing near his throat, brought to his mind another woman's voice.

"I've got you, sweetheart, it's alright. I promise this will pass soon."

The pain on his chest flared sharply, and Ominis clung to it with all his might—because this pain definitely wasn't coursing through his entire body, and nothing mattered more than that.

"Keep playing the rat, and you'll be treated like one. Your precious Sallow is now rubbing shoulders with the Aurors, isn't he? That's dangerous—for both of you. Remember that next time you open your mouth."

Sebastian. Ominis fought to focus, straining to grasp the meaning of words. The footsteps grew closer. Once again, he tried to feel his wand in his hand, but failed.

"Stop whatever childish nonsense this is."

Marvolo hesitated before pulling his wand away.

"Finite!"

His body unlocked all at once, and Ominis inhaled sharply, savouring the precious rush of air deep into his lungs and the distance now separating him from his brother.

"We're just talking. And we understand each other perfectly now, right, baby brother?"

Hands roughly dragged him up by the shirt, forcing him into a sitting position. Ominis ignored all of the drawn-out words, and the barely audible comments from Mother, mentioning, of course, Father. What mattered most was the stone under his palms—cold, but blessedly dry. The other pain had dulled, but the sharp pain in his chest, where the wand and the fist had pressed, remained vivid—and he welcomed it. Reality.

"It's not real, you hear me? Breathe, Ominis, alright? Please," says Sebastian in the urgent, worried voice of an eleven-year-old boy.

His hand instinctively clasped around his wand's handle, so familiar and comforting. Reality kept crashing down on him as the dreadful meaning of the half-heard words began to sink in.

Marvolo kept speaking, standing beside him. "You are so absolutely right. Wouldn't want to upset Father more than we already have." Ominis felt the mocking patting on his shoulder. He forced himself to act—a desperate move, but desperation has often been his companion, after all. His unsteady hand shot upward, gripping Marvolo's wrist.

Velvety laughter, indulgent, almost inviting. No—this isn't right… Alyn's voice, sharp and determined: "Show you the way out?" That's closer… The cold wind brushes his face. "Felt good, didn't it?" The trembling with rage voice lingers before slithering into almost inaudible Parseltongue, "I'd kill you, but..."

A scattered cheering of voices, while Marvolo grunts—the sound is displeased, sharp. "Don't be stupid." The words are sour with disdain… "Lies!" The voice cuts through, raw and trembling. The fear is there, just beneath the surface, twisting into fury… That laughter again… No… Velvety laughter is louder this time, pressing closer, refusing to leave. It grows, sharpens, until it almost breaks into something else—a voice…

Marvolo yanked his arm away violently, snarling, "Get off. Don't you dare."

Ominis clutched his wand, but his grip on reality still was tenuous at best. The indulging laughter lingered in his head, silencing the sharp "I meant every bloody word" and a dismissive huff Marvolo let out before his heavy steps receded into the corridor.

The second set of footsteps was gone instantly, walking decisively away in the opposite direction. Ominis struggled to recall if there had ever been a time Mother had stepped in. Maybe five years ago? Ten? But of course, the only reason for her to show up was because he had told her to.

Slowly, the ghost of pain from the memory was loosening its grip on his body, and Ominis pushed himself up, holding onto the wall for balance. It's nothing, he told himself. It wasn't even real.

His navigation charm faltered several times as he made his way to the library. He wasn't at all surprised to confirm it was deserted, but he had to check .

Eighteen months and twenty-two days. Maybe, it was twenty-one already.

He shut the door of his bedroom behind him quickly and, though it took effort, reinforced the locking spell. He leaned his head against the door for a while, as though the pressure could somehow force "It's been worse" deeper into his mind.

He tucked his wand under his pillow resolutely and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket tightly around him as he stayed perched against the wall. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. Wrapping his arms around himself, he tried to stop that ridiculous trembling. Silence reigned on the other side of the door, while the rustle of the rain shifted into the crackle of hailstones against the window.

He should warn Sallow that Father either has an interest in him already or will develop one soon. Marvolo wouldn't keep this quiet for long. His endless threats had long since blended, forming one continuous menace. Why had he stayed silent until now?

Ominis wished his lack of experience in Legilimency wasn't so painfully evident. But what concerned him even more was his brother's thoughts persistently drifting from course, ending up at that laughter again. He was surprised and concerned that Marvolo was capable of that. Could he be good enough to hide anything from their father?

Even in the memories he managed to grasp, nothing was clear enough. Unfortunately, his father had been right all these years—the natural ability would indeed be more practical for the person who could see. Then he would've been able to tell if there was any link to Hogsmeade, and… Beneath his gripping fingers, his arms still felt numb. Exhaustion must have dulled his reactions at first, he really needed to get back to practising duelling. But what excuse did he have for not responding to his brother afterwards? Cowardice. Some old memories scared him. In a real fight, it could have cost him his life.

Ominis hadn't allowed himself tears for years; he knew well how dangerous they could be. Now, they all formed a familiar lump in his throat—painful, suffocating, and—utterly useless. Just like him.

His mind drifted to Sebastian again. Sallow would have fought back—he always did. He could probably even smirk straight at the face of whoever threatened him.

"Send an owl when you're back, alright? We'll grab a butterbeer." Sebastian's voice dips into a conspiratorial whisper, "Or I can find us something a little more exciting."

Alyn snorts at his suggestion, taking an exaggerated step away from them.

Soon after that talk, Ominis strolls across the castle lawn with her alone, stealing what moments they can before his train departs, as they both agreed she shouldn't go to the station with him.

"This scarf is mine now, you know," she says, her voice carrying a smile for the first time this day. Ominis finds himself also smiling a little. He's especially pleased that she just sent Sebastian's jumper back by owl, though he tries not to dwell on that too much.

"You can borrow it for now," she says, still smiling as she drapes the scarf around his neck. Her movements are far more careful than her words, revealing a shyness she doesn't quite let show. His smile grows a little. "It's a long trip, after all. Just be back soon to return it. I already have an idea of how to make it look a bit less… Slytherin."

He tried to avoid thinking about her, as if she might sense his weakness through them and be disappointed, but he couldn't help giving in. He remembered the certainty in her voice in that memory. She was stronger than he could ever hope to be. She deserved better—he knew that.

Yet he also knew that he couldn't bear the thought of letting her go, even if the ache came from the shameful truth that he needed her far more than anyone could ever need him. With her, the idea of becoming the person he aspired to be felt real again—a hope he thought had died after fifth year at Hogwarts. For her, he wanted to keep trying.

His arms remained wrapped around himself, as if restraining tears that wouldn't fall. The hail tapped louder against the windows. He silently vowed to Alyn he would make it through. He had made it so many times here already. It could have been worse. Soon, Ominis could feel her touch. Less than two years, and he would be free to break his family's hold on his life once and for all.

The grip on his arm tightened and he made himself loosen his hand to preserve the beautiful, fragile feeling that she was near him. In his mind, it was her voice now, repeating "You can make it through."

The sound of hail on the glass shifted to the rustle of rain once again, fading into distance. Slowly, Ominis sank into sleep, the warmth of Alyn's voice soothing his trembling better than the tight bundle of his blanket he was shrinking further into.

...pt.2 ->

#TWO MONTHS of consistent everyday (except Christmas-NY lil holidays) writing #I ALMOST DIED #I BURNED OUT TWO TIMES #to push all the headcanons I needed for that into my head all at once - AAAAAAAAAAAA #okay nvm it happened! the AWFUL PAINFUL DISASTER chapter is here #I'M LITERALLY CRYING AND SCREAMING NOW #not sure any other of my chapters will hurt me this bad #btw it's 5 ch of 10 YAY #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #snowcactus ssl #ominis gaunt x f!mc #ominis gaunt x f!mc fanfiction #Ominis x fMC #chapter fic #short story

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