#Ominis’ Daughter

[helenadurazzo]

Waltzing in the Undercroft

Just a little story about two love birds escaping the crowds of the Great Hall together for the next generation following the events of Hogwarts Legacy

“I see that you agree that this winter ball is growing to be quite crowded.” Gilda heard a familiar voice remark as Thomas Hearst walked to where she stood, leaning against the cold stone walls of a corridor just outside of the Great Hall, where they could still hear the music being played.

Gilda could not deny that Thomas looked especially charming in his perfectly white suit with sparkly embroidery of snowflakes on the ends of the sleeves, coat, and pants, only disturbed by a pitch black tie. His brown hair was neatly combed yet still remained the charm of its usual state from where he studied for hours on a new book on the history of magic, or examined a new gift from his mother’s own researches.

“I have never been one for this sort of thing.” Gilda admitted, even though she did like the elegance of fancy dresses, such as the long periwinkle one she wore now with sleeves reminiscent of a butterfly or moths wing.

“Perhaps we should go on a stroll, or visit a place less crowded.” Thomas advised, “If there is one thing I know, it’s that Hogwarts is practically empty when a social event is going on, a keen moment for leisurely discoveries.

Gilda’s silvery eyes lit up at the thought, “I know just the place, I can’t believe I have never taken you here before, but you’ll love it. Come on, it’s just this way, near the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom.”

Gilda did not pay attention to the length of the walk as she walked rather slowly, enjoying the company of her Slytherin classmate. After all, she had known Thomas and his brothers ever since they were children, with her father wanting her to have good relations with them like he had with Thomas’ own father, Phineas Hearst, a prominent wizard in the field of ancient runes and magic who made quite the interesting discoveries, even an ordinary person would be intrigued to hear about.

She and Thomas had always been close, being the same age and as such starting Hogwarts the same year. In fact they could have been in the same house as the sorting hat considered Gilda for Slytherin due to her ancestry and Ravenclaw for Thomas due to his naturally bookish nature, yet Gilda was placed with the eagles while Thomas resided with the snakes. However they still saw each often, due to their nearly identical schedules involving a numerous amount of shared classes, even as fifth years like they currently were, one of these classes was almost always Defense Against the Dark Arts, another reason why Gilda tried to figure out why she never showed him the secret door just down the stairs from the classroom.

“A dead end?” Thomas assumed as he walked with her towards the windows. “Although I must admit it is a charming place in its own right.”

“Not quite.” Gilda gave him a look with a clever glint in her grey eyes as she turned to the wardrobe with clocks covered along it and used her wand to shift the hands of the clock, just like her father instructed her just before she boarded the train to get to Hogwarts before her first year officially began. And thus, allowing the wardrobe to open the reveal the secret door and another winding staircase, “Follow me.” Gilda instructed, “It’s not too much further down this path.”

“This place is remarkable.” Thomas breathed as they entered the room that was dimly lit by torches. It was untouched since Gilda last used the space to study for her Transfiguration Exam and avoid her stressed out dormmates. “You found this place one day I presume.”

“Not exactly.” Gilda admitted, fully trusting one of her longest companions, she knew full well Thomas would not go blabbering around about this place like so many others. “It lay abandoned for centuries until my Great Aunt Noctua found it and she told my father about it. He used it as his own personal retreat to practice spells and studies, or when he simply needed an escape from the professors as not even they knew about this place. In fact, he would often hang out in her with your father and the Sallow Siblings they were friends with to play games of all sorts. He once told me when he was learning how to cast Confringo, he singed Sebastian Sallow’s eyebrows right off, it took forever for them to grow back.”

“I heard my father and his friends had a hideout but he never told me where.” Thomas smiled before turning to Gilda, “Do not worry, I will not say a word, I assume this place was special to your father, as it is to you.”

“I know you will.” Gilda gave him a knowing smile. “I cannot imagine my father’s reaction if I told him a place that was so dear to him was lost because of a foolish placement of trust. You’re the first person I have told about this place after all.”

“As I said, you can trust me.” Thomas stepped forward with his charming smile that made Gilda lightly blush before he turned his head, “What about this triptych over here?”

Gilda turned her head and followed him over to the wall where the magnificent piece of work stood with three painted panels. It almost felt as someone should have been standing there, but due to the light amount of damage Gilda assumed it was possible.

“I don’t know much about it to be honest, my father never told me about this and I did not bother to ask him.” Gilda informed him, “Perhaps the next time I can ask the Sallows if they know anything since it does look to be some area in the Scottish Highlands, and they know the area better than anyone.”

“My father did mention traveling through various hamlets with his friends on his weekends at Hogwarts.” Thomas noted. “Perhaps we could explore the area sometime, it looks breathtaking with that serene water and magnificent rolling of the hills in the background.”

“Well your parents did always say the world was meant to be traveled and explored.” Gilda chuckled.

“That they did.” Thomas confirmed. “Adventure is out there after all, perhaps we could go together someday?” Thomas extended his hand out to her.

“I would love that.” She placed his hand in his, pulling herself closer to him and kissing him on the cheek while standing on her tip toes.

Thomas seemingly could not help but give her a contagious smile, “Would you care to dance?” He asked her with the wave of his wand which lit up the candles of the chandelier with glowing lights and made the already present torches seem just a bit brighter. His skill in charmwork was always so enchanting that Gilda could watch him perform it all day if she was allowed to.

“Gladly.” She beamed right at him, placing her hand on his shoulder as he placed his on her waist before they used this to remaining hands to hold together as they performed the stereotypical steps to the dance, not without a few pleasant surprises and twists along the way, as Thomas did always like to do something unexpected.

Gilda was not the best at dancing but she had to admit that she did feel as if she was getting less tense with her movements the more she practiced, and succeeded more in casual environments rather than formal ones. Thomas was always patient with her, simply laughing lightheartedly with no malice whenever she made an incorrect step. Unlike him, she was not a pure blood and as such, was not expected to attend the events they hosted like Thomas was, having even traveled to France a couple of times for events due to his mother’s family. Her father always wanted to keep her as far away from toxicity of pure blood society as he could, along with dubious dark magic.

“You know, my brother would always prefer to have dates with his girlfriend in the Restricted Section.” Thomas casually commented, “While I cannot see what sort of appeal they found in that dark and disturbing area, I suppose I can see the appeal more so than ever before of having a secret retreat to be alone and sneak into.”

Gilda rather instinctively gave him a look of surprise, “I never took Zacharias to be the romantic type. I know I did not cross paths with him many times, but he always seemed invested in those peculiar independent studies of his, and if not those he was working on some sort of sneaky potions trick with Pietro Mulpepper.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Thomas laughed, “I was surprised to, but I suppose the odd location fits him, surely he means well. After all, our fathers’ friend Sebastian Sallow always enjoying going into the restricted section himself. My father did always say that the title of forbidden made something all the more alluring.”

Gilda supposed he had a bias towards his brother, although he did always seem to not approve of some of his brother’s actions now and then but could not figure out what exactly he was doing. “How is Nicolas doing these days?” She casually shifted the topic.

Thomas seemed more than happy to go away from the increasingly awkward talks of his suspicious older brother, “I am counting down the days until Nicolas finally asks Aurelia Osborn out.”

“Aurelia Osborn?” Gilda repeated, “I don’t believe I recognize the name, is she in his year?”

“A year below him actually.” Thomas corrected, “I am not surprised you don’t know her, she is a Slytherin and she tends to keep to herself, and has had trouble with Thelma Fawley before.”

“The Minister’s Youngest Child?” Gilda clarified herself continuing with Thomas’ nod, “What has Aurelia done to set her off?”

“Not sure, I typically only hear rumors.” Thomas shrugged, “But I know my brother would be happy with her and she with him from the few times I have seen them in the common room.”

Despite her father’s protection, Gilda had heard many stories of pure blood supremacy, many just from learning about her Gaunt ancestors. Luckily she did not come across many of them in the Ravenclaw common room, and very few people even knew she was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin due to her father taking her mother’s last name, the one she was given at birth. She knew that anyone who was not a pure blood in Slytherin likely had trouble but she figured the Osborns were a pure blood family, having recalled someone mentioning a ball they hosted for wealthy pure bloods before once, so unless it was just the Sacred 28 acting entitled again, she was not sure what was going on between the two.

“Hope Peeves does not have a habit of stumbling across this room.” Thomas half-joked, “I can’t stand that poltergeist, always interrupting my studies in the library.”

Gilda shook her head, “Not that I am aware of, I would just suggest it is important to make sure you are not followed and cover your tracks.”

“I would never spoil such a magnificent place for us to sneak off to.” Thomas charmingly smiled. “This place will be our little secret.”

“Of course.” Gilda held him close, and certainly knew that Thomas Hearst would be the one for her.

[accio-bagel]

[vic-does-battlecats]

Stay with me

speedpaint

[killsworthss]

This was supposed to be for Halloween but got delayed cause ADHD 😅

Thanks for letting me borrow your lovely Mc’s

Cass @cesqdarque

Smile @smilenewfifthyear

Inspired by Resident Evil village

Dimitrescu vampiric daughters

A big thank you to the modding community and @ominouscorridors for teaching me how to mod. I’m so excited to share more mod I create in the future 🖤

[dexterity8]

Worthmore

18 — Debut

(TW for detailed descriptions of gore in this chapter! Read at your own discretion.)

"April," Sebastian groans, his weight practically collapsing onto her shoulder, "I think I'm dying."

His words are sluggish, muffled by the fabric of her sleeve as he leans into her for dear life, the consequences of his reckless indulgence finally catching up to him. April tightens her grip around his arm, keeping him upright as they trudge along the dimly lit path back to Hogwarts. "You're not dying," she tells him flatly. "You're just an idiot."

"It's both," Ominis mutters from beside them, his voice dry as he trails his wand in front of him. The thin white sheet draped over him shifts with the evening breeze, the hastily cut holes for his eyes slightly uneven, giving his ghost costume a rather unfortunate lopsided look. "An idiot with the stomach capacity of a troll, apparently."

Sebastian groans again. "How was I supposed to know the sugar would hit all at once?"

"Perhaps the fact that you downed half your stash in less than an hour should have been an indication," Ominis deadpans. "Or maybe the part where I explicitly told you not to."

April should be amused. On any other night, she might have been. But her mind is elsewhere—lost in the gravity of what she's about to do. Because tonight isn't just another Halloween.

She's spent her entire life adoring this holiday. She's always lived for the thrill of it—the chill in the air, the rich scent of caramel and spice lingering in every corner, the comforting glow of floating jack-o-lanterns lining the village streets. And she's never been able to resist the sugar. Tonight shouldn't be any different.

But it is. Everything is different now.

She straightens to steady Sebastian as they continue their slow walk back toward the castle. Unlike her companions, she has no intention of making it there with them. She's been preparing for this night ever since that evening in detention a month ago. Tonight, she's going to kill someone. She doesn't know who it'll be. Only that it will be a poacher. Only that she will not get caught.

She hardly hears Sebastian and Ominis bickering anymore. All she hears is the steady thump of her heartbeat against her ribs. All she feels is the weight of the dagger at her side. The one she took from her mother's safe. The one her friends believe is nothing more than a prop.

But it isn't.

She isn't.

Sebastian, despite his current state, is still donning the remnants of his clown makeup—though it's smudged beyond recognition now, ruined by sweat, exhaustion, too much sugar, and too little restraint. Ominis, ever the minimalist, had simply thrown a sheet over his head and called it a day.

But April doesn't wear a costume. Not in the way they do. She'd had no intention of dressing up at all, but something had caught her eye back when they were visiting Gladrags just a few days prior, displayed in the shop's front window like it had been waiting for her. A regal ensemble, dark and elegant, tailored with meticulous detail. The fitted vest cinches perfectly at her waist, its rough fabric layered over a poet shirt with voluminous sleeves gathered neatly at the wrists. The ruff collar it had come with was neatly tucked beneath the vest, kept mostly out of sight. Sebastian had laughed when she bought it. Said it looked like something a vampire would wear. She hadn't argued. Let him call it whatever he wanted, because it didn't matter what it looked like. What mattered was that it served its purpose. That it wasn't just a costume, but a disguise. And she found the perfect finishing touch when helping him sift through whatever ridiculous ensembles had caught his attention.

A mask. Porcelain, smooth and stark white, with nothing but two eye holes to betray the person beneath it. It had been perfect then. It is perfect now, concealing every flicker of doubt, every trace of recognition. Because tonight, she isn't April Worthmore. She is something else entirely.

Her hands ball up into fists at her sides, breath steady as the weight of her decision settles in. She knows she should feel something more. Hesitation, maybe. Fear. But all she feels is certainty. Because this? This is not an impulse. This is justice. And now—amidst the chaos of Halloween, where students are scattered and rules are loosely enforced—she'll have the perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

Her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger in her holster, barely grazing it beneath the folds of her vest.

Soon.

April comes to a sudden halt.

The movement is instinctual, her body responding before her mind can catch up, and the moment she stops, she feels Sebastian lurch beside her. His sluggish coordination nearly sends him stumbling, but at the last second, he grabs onto Ominis for balance.

"What?" His voice is slurred, still thick with sugar-induced nausea, but it carries that familiar edge of suspicion. "Why are we stopping?"

April doesn't answer right away. Instead, she stares straight ahead, her gaze locking onto the Forbidden Forest looming in the distance. The path toward it is dark—darker than the rest of the grounds, untouched by the lanterns that still flicker along the main road. Beyond those trees, everything is swallowed by the abyss.

That's where she needs to go. But first, she has to get rid of them.

She exhales, a slow, drawn-out breath, the sound of it slightly hollow against the smooth porcelain of her mask. When she speaks, her voice carries that same strange echo, muffled and distant.

"I need some time alone."

Sebastian stiffens beside her. Ominis doesn't speak, but April can feel the subtle way he turns his head in her direction, as if sensing the shift in her demeanor. She presses on before either of them can argue. "I'll probably head back to Hogsmeade for a bit," she continues, her tone as neutral as she can manage. "Grab a butterbeer or something. I'm just not feeling well."

It's a lie. But a believable one.

Sebastian and Ominis exchange a glance—at least, as much of a glance as one can have when the other is blind. But the pause between them is significant, heavy with concern. It's not that this sort of thing is unusual anymore. They've grown accustomed to April's instability since her return to Hogwarts, to the way she drifts, to the way she seems so far removed from the girl she used to be. And tonight, perhaps more than ever, they know better than to push her.

Still, Ominis frowns. "If you're feeling unwell, you should head back sooner rather than later," he says, his voice laced with that ever-present caution, that careful sort of worry he tries to temper but never quite manages to hide. "Just... don't stay out too late. It's not safe."

April forces a nod, even though she knows the irony of his warning. Because it isn't her that needs to be careful tonight. Not again. Not anymore.

Sebastian, surprisingly, nods in agreement. He doesn't joke. Doesn't offer his usual lighthearted commentary. Instead, he watches her, something cautious—concerned—lingering in his gaze. "Yeah," he murmurs, shifting slightly where he stands. "Just be careful, alright?"

April regards them both for a moment. She knows why they're worried. Knows that neither of them truly expect her to do anything reckless again. Not after what happened the last time she did.

Oh, how wrong they are.

Alas, she nods, her gaze betraying nothing but the feigned exhaustion on her face. "I will."

It's all she needs to say. It's enough. They hesitate only a moment longer before turning back toward the crowd of students making the long trek to the castle. And then, just like that, they're gone. Lost in the sea of bodies, carried away by the night.

Perfect.

April waits. She lingers just long enough to watch them disappear entirely, just long enough to make sure neither of them glances back. And then, she moves. She blends effortlessly into the throng of people, walking with purpose until the path veers off into the one she really intends to take. It's easy to miss in the dark. Deliberately easy. The dirt trail is unmarked, inconspicuous, its entrance set apart from the main road by a crumbling stone archway, where countless warning signs hang in vain attempt to deter the foolish or the reckless.

The wooden bridge leading in groans beneath her weight as she crosses, the air shifting as she moves past the archway and into the treeline. And the moment she steps past that final threshold, the world changes. The sounds of the crowd vanish. The glow of the lanterns fades into nothing, replaced by a darkness that swallows her whole. All that remains is the forest. Cold. Vast. Endless. And April knows she cannot backtrack now. This is happening. Before the night is over, there will be blood on her hands. She will bring retribution to those who so desperately deserve it.

Distant hoots and rustling leaves whisper of creatures watching from the shadows, but she doesn’t falter. Fear does not belong here—not tonight. She has never been this deep before, never truly stepped beyond the point of safety. But there is no safety for those she hunts. Only reckoning.

She marks her path attentively, committing every fallen tree and oddly shaped rock to memory. She will not get lost. She cannot. The thought of failing—of turning back empty-handed—sits like poison in her gut. She needs this. A release. A purpose.

Poachers infest these woods like vermin, gnawing away at the natural order, sinking their teeth into innocence. They take and take and take, their hands forever stained with the blood of creatures that trusted too easily, fought too hard, died too brutally. And if no one else will stop them, she will.

But the forest is a labyrinth of sameness. The trees meld into one another, their trunks indistinguishable in the murky dark. Every turn feels like the last, every step a repeat of the one before. Time bends in on itself, stretching and twisting until it feels as though she has been walking for hours. Frustration gnaws at her ribs, sharp and insistent, but she refuses to let it settle.

And soon, her persistence proves successful. Because she sees it. A flicker of light. A fire. Hope. Not for them, but for her.

April moves like a shadow, careful and methodical. She weaves through the underbrush, her footsteps soundless against the damp earth. The closer she gets, the clearer the scene becomes. Two men sit by a bonfire, their masks—grotesque, animalistic—reflect the light like the empty eyes of predators. A fox and a bear.

The younger one, the fox, leans forward, his voice laced with irritation. "I swear, I'm getting sick of this. The pay's shit, and that hippogriff nearly took my bloody arm off. Starting to think it ain't worth it."

The older man, the bear, doesn't look up. His hands are busy—plucking, pulling, discarding. Feathers flutter to the ground like remnants of something once magnificent. "Then quit," he mutters, his voice a low, tired rasp. "Nobody's forcing you to be here."

April narrows her eyes. The fox is restless, agitated. The bear is indifferent, steady. He's done this before. Many times. Her gaze drifts lower, to the thing resting against his lap, and her breath catches. A wing. Massive, elegant even in ruin. Blood darkens its edges, matted feathers torn from their roots. The sheer size of it dwarfs the man holding it, a grim trophy in his grasp. She follows the trail of crimson, past the discarded plumes, past the sack half-filled with what was once part of something beautiful—until her eyes land on the massive shape behind them.

A hippogriff.

The body lies lifeless, contorted in death. Its silver feathers are stained red, its once-proud head slack against the dirt. The air reeks of blood, and nausea grips April's throat like a vice. However, it's drowned out by something stronger. Rage.

Her vision tunnels. This is what they did to Ollie. She doesn't know for sure, but the feeling in her gut gives her all the confirmation she needs. Her grip tightens on the dagger, and suddenly she's stepping forward. Out of the shadows and into the firelight like it's the most natural thing in the world.

The flames flicker. The men look up. And for the first time, they see her. Startled, they draw their wands, already poised for conflict—until they see her for what she appears to be. A lost child. Nothing more. Nothing to fear.

The fox exhales through his nose, scoffing as he relaxes his stance. "What's this then? A lost little lamb? Best be on your way, lass. Go and pester someone else for sweets, unless you're keen to find yourself in a world of trouble."

The bear, broader and more seasoned in the art of caution, doesn't ease so quickly. He watches her, noting the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her fists are clenched at her sides. There's something wrong about her presence. Something unnatural in the stillness with which she stands.

April says nothing. Not at first. Just watches them. Studies them. Beneath the mask, her lips part, breath steady and measured. Then, she finally musters a simple statement. The truth.

"You are filth. The both of you."

The fox is still, momentarily stunned. But then, he laughs. "That so? You hear that, mate? This one's got a bit of fire in her gut!" He gets up and steps forward, arms outstretched in mockery. "And what, pray tell, do you intend to do about it, little miss?"

The bear, however, is not laughing. His gaze drifts downward—to the way her fingers curl, subtly, deliberately, around the hilt of something at her side.

April takes a single step forward. And the air shifts. A palpable, suffocating weight settles over the clearing. The laughter dies in the fox's throat, his muscles tensing, his instincts screaming at him. He shoots upright, wand raised, his voice louder now, commanding. "Not another step."

But April doesn't stop.

The fox's grip tightens, and in a single fluid motion, he flicks his wrist. "Expulso!"

A blast of force erupts toward her—but before the spell can find its mark, April's wand is in her hand, a barrier of shimmering light bursting into existence before her. The spell ricochets, splintering bark from the trees behind her. She did not speak the incantation aloud.

The fox's pulse quickens. This girl—who looks and sounds no older than 15—casting nonverbal magic? That should be near impossible. Or at the very least, it shouldn't be so easy.

The bear acts swiftly, leveling his wand at her. "Expelliarmus!"

But April moves. She twists, sidestepping the spell with a grace that's almost inhuman, the red light streaking harmlessly past her shoulder. And then, she draws the dagger.

The fox feels his throat constrict. "What the fuck—"

The blade gleams menacingly, reflecting the moonlight filtering from the canopy above. This is no simple threat. No foolish child posturing for dominance. This is intent. This is a promise of bloodshed.

His voice wavers as he demands, "What do you want?"

April tilts her head, the mask casting a hollow, soulless shadow over her piercing gaze.

"Justice."

And just like that, she strikes.

She moves like a specter—silent, ruthless, inhumanly fast. The bear hardly has time to react before she's on him, and by the time the sound of her dagger slicing through flesh reaches his ears, it's already too late.

The fox sees it first, his stomach lurching violently as he stumbles back. His wand remains raised, shaking in his grip, but he doesn't cast. He can't. His mind refuses to process what he's seeing. This isn't a battle. This is a slaughter. And this girl—no, this thing in front of him—isn't right. None of this is right.

The bear staggers back, eyes wide with something between confusion and disbelief. His wand slips from his fingers, forgotten. His hands twitch toward his stomach on instinct—then freeze when they meet something warm. Something wet. Something that should still be inside him.

He makes a sound. A low, guttural groan, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. His fingers clutch uselessly at the wound, as if he could shove everything back into place, as if he could undo what has just been done. But there is no undoing this. His legs wobble, suddenly leaden beneath him.

And yet, he's somehow still alive.

April knows it won't last, though. Because if the blood loss doesn't take him, the tetanus certainly will.

She doesn't speak. Doesn't gloat. She just watches, shoulders rising and falling with steady breaths, dagger dripping with the gory remnants of his insides. Her mask conceals her expression, but the faintest squint of her eyes betrays the grin beneath it.

This feels right. This is exactly what she has been craving. This release.

For herself. For Ollie.

She steps forward, unfazed. The dagger is still slick in her hand as she raises it, preparing to put the bear out of his misery. She doesn't want to. No, she wants him to suffer, to feel every agonizing second of his slow, inevitable demise. But mercy has its place, and he will die either way.

But the fox moves before she can finish it. His mind scrambles for the most desperate, most cruel thing he can think of. Then, his wand snaps up. "Crucio!"

A red burst of magic strikes April dead on. Her body seizes. Her breath hitches. The fox expected her to drop, to scream—to convulse and suffer.

But she doesn't.

It should be unbearable. It should rip through her, reduce her to screams, just as it had that night. The night she almost died. But it simply doesn’t. Not like before.

The pain is there, yes—but it's dulled. Hardly present at all, like the remnant of something she has already learned to endure. A year of suffering. A year of the afterpains wracking her body day after day. And now? Now, she realizes with quiet satisfaction—she has adapted.

So, she straightens, and with a single swipe, the dagger slices clean across the bear's throat. Blood erupts from the wound, warm and sticky, as the he makes one final, sickening gurgled sound before his body collapses in a heap. The proof of her victory drenches her hands, her clothes, the very ground beneath her feet.

She turns then, and lifts her gaze to the fox. The last obstacle between her and the wicked sense of relief she's only starting to get a taste of. And for all his bravado, for all his taunts and jeers earlier—he looks utterly, completely terrified now.

Good.

He doesn't hesitate. The moment the bear's lifeless body hits the ground, the fox’s mind makes the only rational decision left to him.

He runs.

Blind panic seizes his limbs, forcing them into motion before logic can even catch up. His heart slams against his ribs as he bolts through the trees, not caring where he’s going. Not caring about the uneven ground beneath him, the branches that whip at his face as he tears through the underbrush. Because she's not human. She can't be.

He barely registers the words spilling from his mouth—frantic, desperate, spat over his shoulder as he flees. "You're sick in the head! You're a monster!"

But April doesn't respond. Doesn't react. She just starts running too. And she is faster.

Because he might be running for his life, but April is running for two. And this man's life? It is worth nothing compared to her mooncalf's.

The gap between them closes in mere seconds. She lunges, fingers snagging the collar of his coat, yanking him back with a force that rips his legs from under him. His breath leaves him in a strangled gasp as he’s ripped from his stride and sent hurtling to the ground. The impact is brutal—he slams down hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, but he doesn't even get a chance to recover. April is on him before he can so much as roll over. She pounces like a rabid animal, teeth bared behind her mask, eyes wild with something feral. And then the blows begin.

The first punch lands hard—splitting his lip, rattling his skull.

Then another. Then another.

And she doesn't stop.

She hits him with every ounce of strength her body will allow. Every pent-up, agonizing moment of grief, of rage, of suffering. Her fists are already bruising, but she doesn't feel it. She only feels him. His bones beneath her knuckles, the way his skin splits, the warm, slick give of blood under her hands.

He sputters, choking on his own breath, his own blood. "Please—" he wheezes. "I have— I have a family—"

His voice is hoarse. Pitiful. But April just screams at him, voice cracking with fury.

"Ollie was family to me!" she roars. "And did you care? DID YOU?!”

Her fist crashes down again. His nose cracks.

"YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME!"

Another hit. He spits blood.

“KILLED HIM LIKE HE MEANT NOTHING!”

Another. His skull bounces against the dirt.

"And now, I'm going to rid the world of your filth! OF EVERY PARASITE LIKE YOU!"

The fox barely clings to consciousness, his face no longer obscured by the mask, though it’s not as if he’s recognizable anymore. His face is a mangled mess of red and swollen flesh. And he doesn't understand. Doesn't know who Ollie is. Doesn't know what crime he's being punished for.

But April doesn't care. Because in her eyes, it doesn't matter. He is one of them. He had just as much of a hand in Ollie's death as the others. And now, as his body goes slack beneath her, something dark and wretched inside her reaches its peak.

Her breathing is ragged now, her vision tunneling. Her fingers twitch, slick with blood, and without thinking, she grabs his throat.

She squeezes. Not enough to kill him. Not yet. She lets the rage consume her, lets it burrow deep inside her like a sickness. She is drowning in it, letting it eat away at the last fragile threads of innocence that still remain.

But suddenly, something happens.

An unnatural crackle of energy. A rush of heat. And finally, a blinding green flash.

The fox's body seizes beneath her, limbs jerking violently—then stilling all at once. His eyes go wide, then glassy. Clouded. His lips part as if to speak, but no sound comes.

April lets go. Her breath is erratic, chest rising and falling with the aftermath of it all. The sheer weight of it. Because he's dead. Not because she beat him to death. Not because strangled the life out of him.

No. He's dead because she thought it. Because, in the haze of her fury, all she did was wish for it. From the bottom of her heart.

Her breath hitches, and she slowly, shakily pushes herself to her feet. Her pulse still pounds in her ears, but beneath the adrenaline, beneath the raw fury still simmering in her veins, there is something else. Not regret. Not horror.

Satisfaction.

Because she knows what this means. She knows what she just did. A spell beyond magic itself. The most abhorrent, most damnable curse in existence. And she had just cast it without her wand. Without a word.

She doesn't move for a long moment, simply staring at the body before her. Processing. Satisfied to know she's this strong. That she holds this kind of power. That next year—next Halloween—perhaps this will happen again.

Perhaps it should.

With that thought, she exhales, rolling her shoulders, shaking the tension from her fingers. And then, without another glance at the corpses littering the forest floor, she turns and walks away. Casually. As if she hasn't just committed an atrocity so vile it would land her in Azkaban for life.

Simply thinking about how much of a hassle it's going to be to get the blood out of her clothes.

[weirdraccoon]

During MC's villain era.

MC hunts down witch-hunters and burns them to death. Ominis tries to stop her when he and Sebastian finally catch up to her. The man MC has under her wand has burned one single real witch and six innocent young women who rejected him.

Ominis *trying to flee before the Aurors arrive*: Please, MC, you're not as evil as people say you are.

Sebastian *realizing who the man was*: He's right. You're much worse, love. Burn that motherfucker down to ashes!

[amethystandemma]

Full Name: Noctua Noreen Silverthorne

The Basics: Noctua Silverthorne is a witch that attended Hogwarts in the early 1900s. She is a very sociable girl and made a lot of friends, her closest being Evangeline Sallow. Noctua enjoys dressing up and making her own clothes for herself and her friends. Like her mother, Rhea, she is a seer.

divider from accio-bagel!

Genealogy

Family (immediate)

Ominis Gaunt (father)

Rhea Silverthorne (mother)

Family (extended)

Salazar Slytherin (ancestor; paternal)

Marvolo Gaunt (uncle; paternal)

Morfin Gaunt (cousin; paternal)

Merope Gaunt (cousin; paternal)

Hadlee Euphoric (granddaughter)

Love Interest(s) 

Jacob Euphoric (husband)

Eleazar Sallow (ex-boyfriend)

Child(ren): Azan Euphoric

Physical 

Gender: female

Height: 5’11

Eye Color: silver

Hair Color: strawberry blonde

Blood Status: half-blood

Other: her hair is usually pulled back by a headband

Other

House: Slytherin

Quidditch Position: N/A

Wand

Oak wood

12½ inches

Slightly yielding

Mermaid hair core

Patronus: St. Bernard

Favorite Spells: Levitation charm (Leviosa)

Pet(s)

Owlbert, a great horned owl

Content

Proposal Gone Wrong - (Part 1, mentioned & Part 2, cameo)

Gallery

[morelikeravenbore]

IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT'S HERE!!!!

🌦️☄️Wren & Wraith

Ominis x F!MC romcom-drama [M-rated, 2.5k]

"Come on, Ominis, you can't leave school with me as your only friend." Oh, but he could. He would— well, maybe not happily, he couldn't give Sebastian too much credit. But contently, certainly. It was too late for any shifts in the status quo now. And that was for the best. That was what he wanted – what he needed to survive. Keep his head down, blend in, never challenge the way of things. Never cause a ruckus or draw attention to himself unnecessarily, or be late. Ominis sped up, determined to get to the castle on time. He'd spent so long chopping and contorting himself to fit in that he'd weathered down to particles: invisible, unremarkable. And free.

The wren and the wraith don't have anything in common, except one thing… they're both trapped. Sixth-year Ominis Gaunt had no intention of doing anything more than surviving until he's old enough to escape his family, but when chaotic, naïve Muggle-born Tabitha Fulton-Smyth stumbles into his life with no knowledge of the magical world, Ominis proposes an arrangement: he'll help her to better fit in if she'll pretend to be his friend – and stave the unfortunately growing rumours declaring him the true Heir of Slytherin. But when gossip becomes fate, Tabitha's explosive magic becomes a source of untold mystery, and ruse becomes startlingly too real, Ominis realises that to get the peace he so desperately craves, he'll have to risk it all: his future, his destiny, and worst of all... his heart.

NEXT || AO3 | Wattpad

1. Same Old

In the list of things Ominis Gaunt expected to happen on his first day of sixth year, Muggle violence was not one of them.

"Guess what rumour I heeeeeard?"

It was mid-afternoon by the time he and Sebastian finally got on the road bid for Hogwarts, and Ominis was already frustrated. The morning wasted on Sebastian's arguments with his surly uncle Solomon, they would probably be late to the Sorting Ceremony if Sebastian continued to walk at his leisurely, cavalier, did not give one atom of a shit pace.

"I have no interest in whatever gossip you've managed to siphon out of the local tattlers. Now walk faster."

The fresh air and mild anticipation never failed to give him a shot of hope for the new school term. It was good to be away from Solomon's oppression, and his family's too. At Hogwarts, he was away from that responsibility as could be, and Ominis never took that for granted.

This year was his seventeenth birthday. The year he became a man.

"You'll want to hear this," Sebastian insisted, easily keeping pace with Ominis' longer strides. He was shorter, but much brawnier, with wide shoulders and enough muscle to make him popular with most girls, and some of the boys, in school. "There's a new student starting this year."

Ominis knew what lay at the other side of January: undertaking the true weight of the Gaunt name. Furthering social connections he didn't care to forge, arranging business in fields he held no interest in and juggling marriage proposals that brought neither passion nor levity. It was as he'd been taught since birth, each lesson drilled into him as precisely as a tomb engraving. Luckily, these were skills he could turn to his advantage.

Because Ominis Gaunt had a plan.

"There are hundreds of new students starting this year. That's how schools work."

"She'll be joining as a sixth year, our year, you dunce. And – get this – she had no magic before now. Last week she was more Muggle than a telephone box."

That was intriguing, but Ominis didn't want to give Sebastian the moral victory. "And how did you come about this rumour?"

"You know Mrs Oats, the old lady who I owl-sat for yesterday? She works at the Department of Magical Transport. Apparently had to sort a Thestral-drawn carriage last minute from London."

It was a fairly reliable source, and Sebastian wasn't prone to lying for the sake of it. Still, Ominis had no desire to speculate. He knew exactly where this was going.

The boy slapped him heartily on the shoulder. "It's so perfect I couldn't have made it up if I tried. You know what this means?"

"Another skirt for you to chase?"

"It means," he declared, ignoring him again, "another chance for you to make a new friend."

Typical. A knot in Ominis' stomach tightened. "We're not having this discussion again." As if he didn't suffer it enough from both him and Anne during summer. At least Anne knew when to shut up. Without her as anchor, Sebastian could prattle for hours.

"You can't keep pretending the problem doesn't exist, Ominis," he said coolly. "This is finally your chance to branch out and expand from the social circle you call me, my dormmate Sebastian and my best friend Sebastian."

"I don't have to pretend the problem doesn't exist because the problem doesn't exist."

"We're in sixth year! Almost full-fledged wizards! Come on, Ominis, you can't leave school with me as your only friend."

Oh, but he could. He would— well, maybe not happily, he couldn't give Sebastian too much credit. But contently, certainly. It was too late for any shifts in the status quo now.

And that was for the best. That was what he wanted – what he needed to survive. Keep his head down, blend in, never challenge the way of things. Never cause a ruckus or draw attention to himself unnecessarily, or be late. Ominis sped up, determined to get to the castle on time. He'd spent so long chopping and contorting himself to fit in that he'd weathered down to particles: invisible, unremarkable.

And free.

"You don't even know who this new student is," he said.

"Don't need to," Sebastian trilled, keeping up easily. "I have a gut feeling."

"That's just your stomach."

"Just you wait." Sebastian marched a few steps ahead, dragging his trunk with gusto. "This is our year."

Ominis sincerely hoped not.

As the first years were shepherded to their Houses, Sebastian shared the illicit rumour with every Slytherin in close proximity at the table. He was good with spinning stories, so it wasn't long before every sixth year was agog with speculation. Nerida claimed to overhear something from Professor Sharp.

"Supposedly there was a rogue dragon spotted flying over the Midlands," she whispered. "Fig and her, they got caught up in an attack. Do you think that's why they're late?"

"Forget late! They might've been hurt!" said Grace, scandalised.

Opposite him came a soft, girlish snort.

"What does it matter? She would've avoided it if she got the Hogwarts Express. Could she not board the train like the rest of us? Her people invented those things, after all."

Ominis' dormmates swore Maya Cavendish was the most beautiful girl they'd ever seen. Flawless bronze skin and thick ringlets of chocolate brown pinned into a chignon, she must've had the appearance of Greek goddess if she was pretty enough to disguise the rot beneath.

"Her people," Sebastian challenged. "You say that like it's a bad thing?"

"I can't imagine many Muggles have faced dragons before."

"Muggle-borns."

"Mmm." Maya sat up straight. "Regardless, you can't disagree it's poor form to be late on the first day."

Ominis couldn't, though her tone implied a lot more than an obedience to the rules.

The Sorting passed without fanfare, Slytherin taking its usual handful of hopeful misfits with squealy voices and barely-developed acne. When dinner appeared, Ominis levitated his usual amuse-bouche of a hen and rosemary filo tart onto his plate.

Then the doors clamoured, drawing his attention sharply left.

"We have one last one!" called a hurried Professor Fig. "Apologies!"

"Ah." On the front steps, Weasley fluttered a hand, calling for silence. "Thank you very much, Professor Fig. Forks down, students, this will only take a moment. Miss Tabitha Fulton-Smyth, if you'd please make your way over?"

A pair of shoes scurried inside.

"Sorry to hold up dinner!" the girl said, high-pitched like a mouse's squeak. "I swear I didn't mean to be—"

Maya murmured under her breath; the girl yelped and stumbled to the floor with a loud clatter. A trill of stifled amusement rippled around her, although it quickly doused as Fig helped her to her feet.

"Best not to run," he said gently.

There was a table between them but even Ominis could detect her face burning. With a more modest spring to her step, she made her way to the dais and sat on the stool, and before long she was Sorted into Hufflepuff.

The interruption was, perhaps, the only thing of note to happen during the feast, along with the usual announcements, new staff, a speech from head boy Lance Weasley, Quidditch trials in the coming weeks and an additional warning to be more wary of goblin presence in the Highlands. No change from the years before, then. It was irrevocably uninspired, normal. Another year at Hogwarts, and things were promising to be the same old.

Just the way he preferred.

As they eventually made their way to the common room, Sebastian knocked Ominis' arm. "Can you smell that, Ominis?"

"The garlic on your breath? Unfortunately."

"Wrong," he said, fluttering his palms outwards. "It's the scent of potential."

It was Sebastian's fault could've been the name of Ominis' autobiography.

No matter how many times Ominis shook him, prodded him, yelled in his ear, the oaf would not rouse even the slightest. Sebastian's sleep pattern was awry because of the amateur Beast-sitting service that kept him up into the night, and though tempted to leave him so he wouldn't have to suffer any more ridiculous soliloquysabout the winds of change, Ominis resorted to using Aguamenti and kicking the boy onto the floor instead. They'd had to skip breakfast to make it to Defence Against the Dark Arts on time, and Ominis snacked discreetly on a chocolate bar beneath the desk as Hecat opened the lesson.

"Sixth year sees you beginning to embrace your abilities as witches and wizards in the entirety. No more hand-holding. No more rigid guidance. From now on you will learn what it means to become an adult in our society. In today's lesson, we will settle everyone into the expectations I have with wandwork—"

A timid knock cut her off, followed by the groan of a door.

"H-Hello?" said Tabitha Fulton-Smyth. "Is this, erm... Defence class?"

"That is it. Welcome inside, Miss Fulton-Smyth. You can have the empty spot next to Master Prewett over there." As Tabitha dumped her bag, Hecat appraised her. "You have excellent timing. Professor Fig tells me you have some duelling experience. Is that true?"

"Er, I'm all right, like," she said. "It's sort of different when it's life and death."

So the dragon attack was true.

"I see," said Hecat. "Then I would like to see what you have learnt in action."

"In action?"

"... In a duel."

"No!" Tabitha blurted. "I mean, erm, no thank you, Miss. Someone else can go first."

Hecat laughed. "I'm afraid I wasn't asking. As I was saying, I want everyone on the same page, and you're a bit of a mystery. Not to worry, I believe you'd make a fine opponent for... Master Gaunt."

Ominis choked on his chocolate bar.

"He must find this all trivial," she continued with an edge to her voice, "since he believes it acceptable to eat during my class."

He quickly shoved the evidence in his pocket, but it was too late. Damn.

"With all due respect, Professor—"

"Request denied, Master Gaunt. Up you get."

As the class made room – and Ominis pinched Sebastian's arm hard – Hecat conjured the duelling platform down the central aisle.

"Master Gaunt, I will limit you to basic cast, the Levitation charm and the Shield charm. Miss Fulton-Smyth, you may use anything you like."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

She batted her cheeks twice. "Okay! I'll do my best!"

Her best would not be enough. Tabitha was as petite to him as a thumb to a forearm. She wore the full Hogwarts regalia, robes, blazer and all, whilst he'd already forgone his uniform down to his waistcoat, and her hair, riotous blonde curls tied poorly back in an amalgamation of ribbons and pins, could easily disrupt her vision. She wore glasses too, fiddling with them as she awkwardly clambered up the platform.

His family's duelling wisdom came back to him in waves. Light on your feet, think fast, be vigilant, understand their weakness. Another list, another easy set of steps to follow. He met her in the middle of the platform, preparing to bow, but Tabitha stuck out her hand instead.

"Nice to meet you, Master Gaunt!"

He had to resist a grimace as she shook like she was trying to extract the last drop of ketchup from the bottle. How could such a tiny, tiny hand be so... clammy?

"My name's Tabitha! Let's have a good fight!"

He surreptitiously wiped down his leg. "Indeed."

After bowing, they made their way to opposite ends. It was time to find out how she'd beaten that dragon.

"Ready?" called Hecat, as Ominis pushed his feet apart. "Begin!"

In what was not a show of sportsmanship but rather an assessment of her technique, he waited to allow Tabitha the first move, prepared to dart aside or arm a shield – but all she did was erratically wave her wand.

"Oh, crumbs, what was it again? Stupidly? Stupid fly?"

What? No, surely she didn't... He inched forwards as she jabbed her wand out.

"STUPID DIE!"

Instead, Ominis cautiously struck three basic casts that pushed her to the edge of the platform, and a fourth that blasted her straight off. Hecat cushioned the fall; the class erupted in confused whispers.

"Again, Miss Fulton-Smyth," said Hecat, as Tabitha stood up, catching her breath. "The spell you're thinking of is Stupefy. Try to fight back this time, hmm?"

"Right, sorry!" she babbled out, climbing back up undeterred. "He's really good!"

This had to be a joke. They'd asked her to join an advanced duelling class – and she couldn't do even the most basic offensive spell? He hadn't even tried! Hecat resumed the duel before he could question it, and to Tabitha's credit, she let out a determined huff and didn't hesitate.

"Stupefy!"

But nothing happened. Ominis flung basic casts towards her again, but this time she had the forethought to avoid them, backing further down the platform.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" She let out a panicked whine. "Why isn't this working?"

"You need the wand movement!" Sebastian the traitor yelled. "Vertical line down!"

"Ohhhhh! Stupefy!"

A sharp pulse whizzed by Ominis' ear. Finally, a challenge. He swerved left to dodge the next and raised his wand as she threw another.

"Protego." The spell ricocheted into the ceiling, rattling the bone dragon. "Levioso."

"EEEEE!" She pinwheeled into the air, shrieking, before three more blows to the chest shunted her off the platform with a hacked-out yelp.

Useless, again. This couldn't be the same girl that fought a dragon, it simply couldn't.

"I don't think she's ready for this class, Professor," he muttered, trying not to let his irritation show. "Perhaps one with the younger years?"

"You let me worry about that, Master Gaunt," said Hecat, ushering the girl back to her feet again. "We'll try once more, Miss Fulton-Smyth. Remember everything you have learnt... and give it your all."

The beating seemed to have knocked Tabitha's confidence. She pawed back up with a silent wince, wand arm quivering with adrenaline. The moment Hecat began the final match, she fired a basic cast – desperate and sloppy, he flicked it away and sliced forwards, weaving between each attack to trim the space between them.

"S-Stupefy!" He batted it away again, relishing the terrified squall she let out. "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"

Each Ominis swatted away like lint. He moved like high tide, undeterred and mighty, as engulfing yet impossible to grasp, and closed the gap in four strides. Tabitha's incantations became incoherent babbles until he pressed the wand tip to her throat.

Beaten, as easily as that.

"Don't take this personally," he said, charged with disdain, "but this is an advanced class, and if you can't keep up, you shouldn't—"

But she cut him off with a scream.

Tossed her wand aside—

And lunged.

He hit the deck with a hollow rattle, winding him as her weight crashed down onto his chest. He was so stunned at the manoeuvre he completely froze when she dug her elbows into his arm joints, screeching some sort of battle cry.

Same old, he'd promised himself – but no one had ever surprised him like this before.

"Wait a moment!" he choked out, struggling to find purchase. "This isn't how we—!"

Then she balled that tiny, tiny hand into a fist.

And sent it flying straight into his crotch.

A/N: I intend to update weekly (ish) with fairly bitesized chapters. If you'd like to be tagged with each update, let me know! Thanks so much for reading! <3

NEXT to come soon <3

Divider credit

[tamayula-hl]

Dad Mode👨

Ominis makes a perfect girl dad too, but personally, I think no one suits the role better than Sebastian. I have so many ideas about him being wrapped around the finger of his wild, playful little daughter— from the “toddler days” to “teenage drama” to “Hogwarts acceptance arc”... Honestly, I could draw this forever 😂

[theealbatross]

fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

[chainsawg]

Hands out of your mouth, young lady

My headcanon is that Ominis will probably name his daughter Noctua.

She will be the most adorable and most spoiled creature, I tell you.

After a long discussion with my good friend, I was so inspired that I decided to draw them. Don’t know about historical accuracy (probably not), but the attire is definitely for walk.

And in my HC Ominis will still successfully escape abroad with his beloved, away from his crazy relatives, and will live happily ever after.

[ps-cactus]

Headcanons for the Gaunts in the early 1890s

...and for Ominis staying at the Gaunt Manor, a place he calls "there."

Disclaimer: These are headcanons that work for me in my writing (recently posted a chapter of Ominis at home and my head nearly exploded of everything I had to keep in mind for that, so I'm 'clearing my storage') Of course I don't expect these will work for everyone.

CWs: Any you would expect from these people. Primarily - Toxic Family Dynamics, different forms of Abuse. General darkness.

The Gaunts

General

The family is still recognized for their pureblood lineage, but they're far less financially comfortable than they'd like people to believe. They rely on old connections rather than building new ones.

They had some issues with Aurors, with certain conflicts becoming personal for a while. Investigations have put more pressure on the family and forced them to spend a lot of money buying their way out of trouble.

Other pureblood families are growing more hesitant to marry into the Gaunt line—especially when it comes to the Gaunt sons.

Innate abilities, in addition to Parseltongue, can include Legilimency and/or Occlumency. More about Ominis in his section below.

The transition to Parseltongue can be unconscious, reflexive response to hearing it.

Ivraxus Gaunt (Father)

Works at the Ministry, Department of International Magical Co-operation, the International Magical Trading Standards Body, handling inspections, audits, and licensing. He will last there few more years while his 'friends' let him.

While he maintains a polished front at work and formal gatherings, his methods at home are far harsher, relying on intimidation to keep others in line.

He arranges (or tries to arrange) marriages for his children to maintain sacred alliances.

His wife’s declining health disturbs him—not out of love, but fear. Her loss would represent the crumbling of his already fragile household and it reminds him of his own eventual end. This fear alternates between withdrawal and bursts of anger.

Disapproves of Ominis holding a wand in his hand unless it is absolutely necessary for navigation.

He has a collection of expensive firewhiskeys and usually drinks after work.

Merope Gaunt (Mother)

Her voice is frail and ghostly, and her presence seems to fade into the background. Chronically ill all her life, and her health worsened with every child she bore. She was unable to have more children after Ominis.

She never blames her children in her state and avoids conflict at all costs—not even for her children’s sake, but to protect herself.

If some fight breaks out, she leaves, never offering comfort to anyone involved.

If forced (typically by her husband, if he’s busy) to intervene, she will do the bare minimum to diffuse tension before hurrying away. She prefers to turn away and forget.

Yes, Marvolo named his daughter after her. No, he never loved either of them.

Marvolo Gaunt (Older Brother) sighs

Volatile and aggressive, quick to issue threats or escalate conflicts.

Since graduation, he’s spent much of his time abroad; because of this, he didn’t meet Ominis for a year and a half.

Engaged to Miss Burke, he shows no real interest in the marriage but never opposes it. It’s possible he has feelings for someone else.

He was openly hostile to Ominis from the moment his younger brother was born, seeing him as competition for attention. Marvolo also felt unnerved by Ominis' perceived 'abnormality,' a term whispered frequently at home.

Korentha Malfoy, née Gaunt (Older Sister, the oldest child)

Embraces the family's traditions and social obligations, enjoying all the gatherings and taking pride in her pureblood status.

Quick to lecture Ominis for his "manners." For her, he is an unfortunate disgrace in the family, that affects her as his relative.

Married shortly before the mentioned major conflicts with Aurors. Her marriage into the Malfoy family is seen as the Gaunts’ greatest alliance in years, one their father takes immense pride in. It won't last, though: the marriage will 'cease to exist' within a few years. She also has a son who will never have children of his own.

Side note for their names: The same "alphabetical distance" for father and kids: I-K-M-O

Property

The Gaunt Manor is large, drafty, and perpetually cold. Ominis is constantly freezing despite fireplaces (that are too small for the vast rooms), and warming charms that seem to wear off too quickly.

Noctua's house, the family's second and last property, was left to Ominis in her will. He deeply resents how his parents treat this inheritance like a tool to control him. He has no intention of living there and plans to sell it the moment he gains true independence (after graduation), using the money to start a new life (tells himself it's to not feel like a burden to anyone ever again)

Noctua-Marvolo-Ominis side note (Korentha didn't like her): Noctua was kind to all children, including Marvolo, who loved her back. Until Ominis was born. With Ominis needing protection the most, Noctua's attention shifted to him. Marvolo's jealousy soon turned into violence toward Ominis and their aunt. Their father subtly encouraged Marvolo’s behavior, leading him to think, "Daddy loves me and loves me more than them." He'd kill and maybe die for his father's approval.

Ominis at home there

Keeping Appearances

He rarely spent much time there during summers, usually staying just long enough to prepare for school: he had to buy new clothes, books, etc. He had to maintain connections to use them (like saving Sebastian from detentions).

After fifth year: For the first time since starting Hogwarts, Ominis was forced to endure an entire summer break there.

While there, Ominis is obligated to attend all the dinners and gatherings, where he must act polite and respectful to the honored guests.

He is aware that every move he makes is monitored. Sending or receiving owls while at the manor won't go unnoticed. Ominis avoids it, and his friends understand to do the same to avoid questions and more threats.

Traumas & Coping

He flinches at loud sounds and tries to hide it (by shifting his weight or clasping his hands tightly).

Doesn't allow himself tears, even when he's alone.

Keeps a countdown of how many months/days remain until he’s free of his family.

Has nighttime anxiety and sleeplessness that worsens there.

Dissociates during punishments, struggles to recall them afterward.

Has an innate ability for Occlumency, it comes from a strong instinct to protect himself and stay safe within his mind. This powerful mental resistance once injured his father when he attempted to access Ominis' thoughts.

Some of Personality & Inner Conflict

Mr sarcastic remarks.

Skilled at masking his emotions, maintaining control during conversations. However, this control can slip if his anger is repeatedly triggered. (When alone and spiraling, he may physically lash out by punching things. When it happens near someone he doesn’t feel threatened by, he raises his voice or shouts.)

He's adept at giving his father the answers the latter wants, or at least enough to deflect suspicion (works only if his father is willing to listen, of course).

Would feign indifference toward people he cares about to shield them but feels physically sick afterward for saying things he doesn’t mean.

Deep down, he feels unworthy of help, friendship, or love. These thoughts overwhelm him when he feels he’s made mistakes.

Even so, remembering the voices, presence, and touches of his friends, calms and grounds him.

Still, he clings to the idea of leaving home forever, refusing to become like the rest of his family. Noctua's voice in his memories encourages him, saying, "You’re nothing like them." He's not interested in any kind of revenge, he just wants to be free.

[anancientlegacy]

you'll never guess -- s. sallow

Pairing: sebastian sallow x reader

Genre: fluff, some angst with reader's father, but that's all

Note: I use “MC” to refer to the reader, but I also explain why in the fic itself! This is still in fifth year even before the player meets Anne, so they don’t do anything crazy. Merely mentions of kissing. Sassy Sebastian and sassier Imelda.

Trope: Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating.

Word count: 2.2k

Crossposted to ao3!

“Hey, Garreth, Ominis, the lot of you that have only grown up in the wizarding world, I’ve got a question.” 

It’s the first words you’ve spoken to everyone around you, your entire friend group sprawled or stretched out on one side of the summoner’s court. All of you have been watching Samantha and Leander make a go of it, over and over and over again — you don’t always have positive things to say about Prewett, but you can’t help but acknowledge his tenacity. Samantha’s final Accio resounds all around you, cutting through the air as she pulls her ball in for another 50 points, blowing her opponent out of the water despite having won the game by her second ball.

“You can say purebloods, MC, it won’t hurt any feelings.” You know Leander doesn’t mean anything by this — you’ve heard Zenobia call him a “no-talent moonmind” in passing — but you can feel Ominis bristle beside you at the mere implication of an impending blood status discussion. You’re quick to shake your head, muttering a ‘no, not exactly what I meant’ while rummaging through your newly-sewn bag (one made up entirely of garments you’d found no use for, because really, what use is a fedora to anyone) for something. Professor Weasley had helpfully enchanted it to be almost endlessly deep, but you find yourself cursing this now. The fact that everyone pauses to watch you is not lost on you at all, and you can’t help but feel some sort of embarrassment.

“All I was asking, well, really, all I’m curious about, is what wizarding world courtship is like. Do you have calling hours, or daily tea, or anything of the sort? Ah, here it is.” You brandish a marriage manual with much gusto, having received it in the mail from your otherwise heavily detached father a few days ago. You’d offhandedly mentioned accompanying Sebastian to the Three Broomsticks to him in a letter, mostly assuming he wouldn’t read it — too busy with overseeing shoddy police work in Whitechapel, and ignoring the realities of magic and whatnot — but he had, to your surprise, replied. The first response all term.

My daughter,

Do not allow yourself to be charmed by young men with no prospects. Surely I raised you better than this. I have given this infernal creature a young ladies’ guide for you to peruse. Certainly letter vi. There are girls dropping like flies here, and I would greatly dislike to find you in a similar situation. 

Read it and report back. If you can send regular post rather than an owl I’d rather you that. Can’t have the neighbours asking too many questions. 

You’d left the letter upstairs under your bed to gather dust, not even bothering to take it with you to the room of requirement. The idea of Sebastian having no prospects is practically laughable to you, considering he’s one of the brightest wizards in your year… even if he is, simultaneously, one of the most troublesome. Your father has been pretending as if magic is pointless at best and a silly trick at worst ever since your magical mother left him with a toddler. 

You dislike him, but you suppose you’d despise her if you knew her. 

Summoner’s court is all but entirely forgotten as even Samantha steps down to join the other fifth years as they fully form a gaggle around you. Amit, to everyone’s surprise, grabs the manual right out of your hands, his nosiness — which he would and does tell you is simply Ravenclaw curiosity, despite you being in the same house — overcoming all societal norms. Poppy, ever one for any sort of gossip, reads the title aloud: “Letters to Young Ladies on their Entrance into the World, to which are added sketches from real life… quite a mouthful, isn’t it?”

“Are you asking if we have these preposterous things?” For once, you can agree with Prewett’s assessment of something. Judging by the slow, rising murmur of consensus around you, everyone else is surprised by themselves for the very same reason. 

“I’ve never seen something like that in my life.” Garreth tacks on to his housemate, and Ominis, never one to miss a prompting, says a swift “me neither” that brings forth a laugh from you and uneasy chuckles from those that don’t know him as well. 

“My father told me to read the sixth letter about unequal marriages because I went on a date, something that seemed to single handedly convince him that my destiny is to become another Whitechapel murder victim, as if those poor girls were the reasons for their untimely demises.” You’re prattling on, you know this, but the insult of receiving the book in the first place still smarts. Natty places a hand on your shoulder, one of the few to know the true extent of your parental issues.

“That’s sort of hilarious, isn’t it?” Imelda pops up out of nowhere, sly as always, and you surmise her arduous, somewhat pointless three-hour self-inflicted flying practice must be over for the day. There really is quite a crowd gathering around you — in fact, there’s basically only one person missing.

“Hold on.” It’s Leander this time, eyes squinting as if he’s having a difficult time puzzling something out. “A date? Who’d you go on a date with?” 

“She was never going to say yes to you, mate, give it up.” Imelda is quick to start fires that she knows she won’t put out herself, and the case of Prewett pursuing you, something both you and him like to pretend doesn’t exist for very different reasons, is one such thing. 

“Come off it, screw off.” He fires back, the best he can come up with as everyone watches, and you so badly want to laugh but settle for turning away and taking the manual back from Amit and Poppy. As long as they’re occupied, nobody will think to follow up —

“Honestly, MC, I want to know too.” Natty breaks your overly-optimistic train of thought, and the glance you send her way is withering. You and Sebastian are still feeling things out, after all: Not too casual, not too serious. Perhaps this is the best time to let everyone know. 

“Well…” You draw the word out, pulling it out into several syllables. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to tell you all without him being here. He should get a say in the reveal, too.” 

The resulting group groan is pure cacophony. Poppy dreamily wonders aloud if it’s an older man, while Imelda scrunches up her face as she relays the idea of it being someone younger. Amit whines about never being in on the secret, and you suspect Natty is gearing up to silently jinx you. Even Ominis breaks his kind aloofness by shoving your shoulder in a way that makes you wonder if he really can’t see anything at all, and Garreth furrows his brows, surely wondering if he can slip veritaserum into your drink at supper. Samantha, one of your roommates, murmurs something about putting a hex on your pillow tonight.

“I see.” Leander says, too smug for your liking. “MC won’t tell us who because she isn’t actually dating anyone.”

“That’s worse for you, you git,” Imelda snaps. “Means she dislikes you so much she’ll lie about a boyfriend.”

“Goodness!” You speak again, finally incensed by everything that’s happening. Prewett never fails to put you in some sort of mood. You don’t really have room for one more secret as it is, what with everything Professor Fig and the Keepers have entrust to you, and Ranrok’s brewing rebellion. “If you really must know, really and truly, it’s Sebastian. Happy?”

Silence. Sudden and significant silence. 

“Sallow?!” For once, Leander and Imelda are on the same page, their voices surprisingly harmonious together as they break the sound barrier. Garreth and Ominis both look unsurprised, though they may just be stoicists at this point. Even Poppy, who’s literally seen the two of you out at Hogsmeade together, seems taken aback. 

“What have I done now?” 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“My dad sent me a ladies’ manual about propriety and sorts because I told him I’d gone on a date, and this lot couldn’t handle me not saying who with.” Your shoulders untense themselves naturally,as he walks up beside you, and you swipe a spot of grease off of his nose with an index finger before wiping it back on his own robe. 

“How was detention? Midday is a terrible time to serve one.”

“Sharp just had me manually cleaning cauldrons, it wasn’t the absolute worst. Incorrectly prepared Ashwinder eggs smell positively noxious, though.”

“Serves you right, frankly –”

“You’ve got to be fooling us.” It’s Amit this time, eyes wide as saucers as he interrupts you. “The two of you bicker constantly.” 

“More than.” Ominis supplies, and you stick your tongue out at him, eliciting an “I felt that!” from your decreasingly dear friend. 

“They fight like brother and sister.” Leander seems to be holding on to his belief in the idea that your budding relationship is merely a ruse. “Worse — they’re completely opposite each other. MC is witty and charming, and Sallow is, well… Sallow.”

“I think they’re good for each other.” Garreth shrugs. “She’s a bit of a kleptomaniac and he’s somewhat addicted to getting caught doing stupid things.”

“MC is -” Leander tries one more time at pulling something over Sebastian, or you, or both of you, but your sort-of-boyfriend decides he’s had enough and doesn’t let him finish.

“The whole lot of you only call her MC because of me, you know. I doubt you even know that it starts for ‘my charge,’ because I was put in charge of her when she first went to Hogsmeade. 

“Where a troll attacked her?” 

“Opposites can attract!” Poppy, ever the believer in love, chimes in before you can defend Sebastian from Leander’s latest barb. “And friends fall in love all the time. They’re both quite lovely to us and to each other when you aren’t around.” Her sweet tone is even more devastating as she aims her cutting words at Prewett.

“It’s just been a few dates.” You interject, reeling from how quickly everyone is quipping at each other, cheeks heating up at the idea of love. The school year has really only just begun — you and Sebastian just happen to get along.

“Well, a few official dates.” Sebastian knocks your shoulder with his bicep, and you look up at his teasing smile knowing full and well that it’ll just warm your face further. “Ask me why I had detention.” Your cheeks cannot physically get any hotter, and you stop yourself from self-incriminatingly scowling at Sebastian. The story is embarrassing for him but you know he doesn’t care because it’s sure to embarrass you, too. His words are aimed at Prewett because he really wants to twist the knife, but he has everyone else’s rapt attention too. The two boys engage in a bit of a staring match, reminiscent of your very first Defense Against the Dark Arts class when you’d walked in on them, both aggravated, dueling each other. 

“Why?” Leander spits out, curiosity finally getting the best of him.

“Sharp heard some, er, snogging noises in his private potions store at night. We’d gone in to nab some fluxweed but realized that we rarely get time to just be alone together. This one was smart enough to disillusion herself the moment we heard the door unlock, but I was so taken aback that I couldn’t do the same in time. He walked in and I, unable to think of anything else, told him that I’d found myself increasingly attracted to leaping toadstools. Of course, he assumed I was fulfilling some sort of bet, but I ended up with detention and she got off scot free.” 

“Go on, tell them the details of my astrological chart too, won’t you.” You hiss, but Sebastian only laughs, reaching an arm out to toss over your shoulder and pull you in. “And it wasn’t snogging exactly. We were just… lightly kissing. Very chastely, I might add.” You know nobody believes you even as you’re telling the truth — Sebastian is more respectful than he lets on. 

“Chaste kissing?” Garreth whistles as Ominis says this, and you prepare yourself for sarcasm from the latter. “Maybe your father was right to send you a marriage manual.” 

Now it’s Sebastian’s turn to become beet red. 

“M-marriage manual? I thought it was just a thing for young ladies to read. Your father sent you a what?” 

Before you can say anything in response, Imelda breaks her uncharacteristic silence to begin humming a tune popularly played at wedding ceremonies, and you forget everything in the moment as you lunge at her. She calls her broom to her with ease before jumping on and, before you can think, you do the same, leaving your bag and the manual on the grass to chase after your friend. 

All Sebastian can do is gaze up at you hopelessly and totally smitten as he, still red-faced, gathers your things up and closes your bag. Perhaps it’s time for another Three Broomsticks date. By the looks of it, you and Imelda are on your way there via air travel anyways.

[tamayula-journal]

Yesterday was my birthday, and my husband gifted me tickets to Universal Studios Japan—along with the glorious right to go wild and have as much fun as I wanted for the whole day! 🎉 So of course, I brought Sebastian, Sakurako, and Ominis & MC with me and took tons of photos together! 😍 And I finally got my hands on the plushies I’ve been wanting forever—a badger with a Hufflepuff scarf and a lion with a Gryffindor one. So satisfied! ❤️‍🔥 The following are some photos I took at USJ.

Just like last year, I spent the whole day in Hogwarts robes with my daughter and fully immersed myself in the Wizarding World! 🪄✨ My daughter spent the whole day with her beloved Pygmy Puffs—two on her head and one on her shoulder—and she seemed to enjoy herself quite a bit too!🔥 Huge thanks to my husband, who patiently carried our bags, took photos, and put up with all my fangirl whims the whole time 🤣💗

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

You may choose to ignore this request for it's a bit too angsty. But I was watching Downton Abbey, and without any spoilers, I could see Sebastian being in Tom Branson's shoes.

How do you think Sebastian would deal if MC (as his wife in the future) possibly succumb to childbirth's consequences? I'm sure he would like plently children from her, and seeing as she is an untouchable witch of great power, he couldn't have expected her to pass away from giving birth to their first baby. How do you think he'll manage that? Would he turn to the bottle, or devote himself wholly to fatherhood?

If it's too angsty, then please ignore. But thank you very much for giving us delightful stories. You're a very realistic writer, especially to those who are often unwritten in romance. 🥹

Your Eyes | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Anon, you broke my heart with this. But also I would never ignore such a request because I live for pain.

Words: ~2,500

Tags/TW: Death, Alcohol Use, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Grief, Loss, Hurt/No Comfort

The house is quiet.

Sebastian never noticed how oppressive silence could be until now. It presses against his ears, heavy and suffocating, as he sits at the edge of the bed—the bed you should be lying in, curled against him, breathing softly in your sleep.

Instead, the sheets are cold. The pillows still hold the ghost of your scent, something warm and familiar, but it’s fading by the day. He grips the fabric in his hands, twisting it, as though he could hold onto you through the remnants you left behind. But there’s nothing.

Nothing but the silence.

And then the crying.

It’s faint at first, a mewling sound from the cradle by the window. It grows louder, insistent. The baby wants something—food, comfort, you.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose and pushes himself to his feet. His body aches in ways that no spell can fix, not from battle wounds but from grief so deep it seeps into his bones. He makes his way to the cradle, hands unsteady as he leans down and lifts his daughter into his arms.

She’s so small.

Sebastian had imagined these moments differently—he had seen himself holding his daughter beside you, the both of you whispering over her, laughing as she made little fists in the air. He had never imagined doing this alone.

His thumb brushes over the downy softness of her hair. It’s curly and dark, like his. But her eyes…

They are yours.

Big, bright, and full of something that makes his chest ache.

She doesn’t cry when Ominis holds her. She doesn’t cry for Anne. But in Sebastian’s arms, she wails, small lungs pushing out grief he knows she doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does. Maybe she can sense Sebastian's pain and mirrors it the only way she knows how.

“I don’t know what you want,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

He rocks her awkwardly, but it’s no use. She cries harder. He runs a hand down his face, exhausted and helpless.

He thought he was prepared for fatherhood. He had imagined so many things—watching you sing lullabies to her, taking her on broom rides, teaching her how to duel, how to wield magic. But all of those moments had you in them.

And you were gone.

His vision blurs with unshed tears. The house is filled with reminders of you. Your books still line the shelves. Your cloak still hangs by the door. The cup you used to drink tea from in the morning sits on the kitchen table, untouched since the last time you held it.

Sebastian sighs heavily. His daughter's crying doesn’t stop.

He tries again—shifts her higher against his chest, mimics the way he imagines you'd hold her. He walks the length of the room, murmuring nonsense against the top of her head, but his voice is rough, strained.

She only cries harder.

You should be here. You were supposed to be here.

Sebastian wipes his eyes with his sleeve, jaw tightening as he crosses the cottage with quick, purposeful strides. He doesn’t think as he snatches his cloak from the hook by the door, doesn’t pause as he reaches for the small container of Floo Powder sitting on the mantle. He barely registers the weight of his daughter in his arms as he throws the powder into the fireplace, muttering his destination.

The sensation is dizzying, a whirl of heat and magic, and then suddenly, he is somewhere else.

The house is quiet here, too.

A warm glow flickers from a nearby oil lamp, casting soft light across the wooden floors. The air is thick with the scent of tea—Ominis must have been reading in the sitting room. But it's Anne who he sees first.

She looks tired, as if she hasn’t been sleeping either.

Her gaze flickers from Sebastian’s face to the baby in his arms, and something changes in her expression—something knowing, something unbearably soft.

Sebastian doesn’t speak. He can’t. He just… hands her over.

Anne’s arms come up instinctively, catching the child before she can even protest the shift from one body to another. Anne blinks, lips parting, but Sebastian is already turning away.

“Seb—”

The words die in her throat as he walks past her, through the front door, stepping out into the night without so much as a backward glance.

Sebastian doesn’t know how he gets there.

One moment, he’s walking. The next, he’s pushing open the heavy oak door of a dimly lit tavern in Diagon Alley. The smell of firewhiskey and damp wood greets him, mingling with the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of glasses.

It’s familiar.

You used to come here after work, shaking off long days with a drink and a laugh, your hand slipping into his as you leaned against him at the bar. He can still hear your voice in the echoes of the room, see the ghost of you in the flickering candlelight.

But you aren’t here. You never will be again.

Sebastian moves on instinct, pushing through the small crowd until he reaches the worn wooden bar. He drops onto a stool.

"Firewhiskey," he mutters.

The bartender barely glances at him before pouring a glass. Sebastian grips it tight, fingers pressing into the cool glass before tipping it back in one go. The burn is sharp, curling down his throat and settling in his stomach like lead. It doesn’t help.

Nothing ever does.

He gestures for another. And another.

The world around him dulls, but not enough. The ache in his chest remains, a wound that refuses to close, a ghost that refuses to be exorcised.

His hands shake when he reaches for his drink again.

He thought he had known loss. Thought he had survived the worst of it. Losing his parents. Watching illness nearly destroy Anne. The darkness that nearly swallowed him whole.

But this—this is different. This is something deeper, something crueler.

You were supposed to be invincible.

A force of nature, untouchable in all the ways that mattered. You had walked through fire and come out unscathed, had stood against curses that would have felled lesser witches and barely flinched. You faced every challenge in life with sharp wit and stubborn determination, wielded magic with a grace that left him in awe. You were powerful in a way he never was, strong in ways that humbled him.

Sebastian had seen you duel men twice your size and win. Had watched you cast spells that turned battlefields to rubble, your wand moving so effortlessly it looked like an extension of yourself. You had been relentless in all things—recklessly brave, annoyingly stubborn, always pushing forward, never yielding.

And yet a simple, mortal thing like childbirth had taken you from him.

A natural thing. A thing so ordinary that countless women had survived it before you. Something that shouldn’t have—couldn’t have—been your undoing.

Sebastian grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as the memory claws its way back.

It had started fine. He remembers the anticipation, the nervous excitement. The way you squeezed his hand between contractions, whispering words meant to soothe him even as you fought through the pain. He remembers you laughing at something stupid he had said, watching the way your lips curled despite the exhaustion settling over you.

Then the laughter faded, and the blood came.

Too much, too fast. It soaked through the sheets in waves, thick and red, seeping between your thighs like a curse made flesh. The healers had rushed forward, their wands alight, their voices sharp with urgency, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

Sebastian remembers the panic. The way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he clutched at you, as if holding you tighter could somehow keep you tethered to the world.

“Do something,” he had demanded, his voice raw, edged with hysteria. “Fix it.”

They Healers tried. Oh, how they had tried. Spell after spell, potion after potion.

Sebastian had never seen magic fail before. Not like that.

He remembers your fingers curling weakly around his hand, your grip far too light. You had tried to say something, lips parting, voice barely a whisper over the chaos of the room.

He never heard what you said. He had leaned in too late, your name half-formed on his lips before your strength ran out.

Before your fingers slackened. Before your breathing stopped.

The sound that tore from him in that moment was animalistic, feral and barely human—no, no, no—a denial that cracked apart inside his chest, splintering into something irrevocable.

Sebastian lifts the glass again, swallowing it down like it might bury the pain.

But it doesn’t. Because no matter how much he drinks, the truth remains: You’re gone. And there is nothing left of you but a child with your eyes and his grief.

Sebastian lets out a bitter laugh, low and humorless. What kind of father does this? Leaves his newborn daughter behind for a night of drinking, of running from the reality waiting for him at home?

All she would do is cry anyway, he thinks.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder. Sebastian tenses, his grip tightening around the glass.

"Sebastian," a familiar voice says—quiet, steady.

He doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. Ominis. Of course he came. Of course he found him.

Sebastian lets out a slow breath, not quite ready to face the weight of his best friend’s judgment. He doesn’t want to hear the reprimand he knows is coming. He doesn’t want to be told what he already knows—that this isn’t the answer, that drinking himself into oblivion won’t bring you back. But it never comes. Instead, Ominis exhales, slow and measured, and settles on the stool beside him.

“She’s doing well,” he says quietly.

Sebastian stiffens. His throat works, but he doesn’t speak.

“The baby,” Ominis clarifies, voice softer now. “She’s alright. Anne’s got her settled. She’s been fed, changed. Not crying anymore.”

Sebastian closes his eyes, pressing his fingers against his temple.

The baby. Just the baby. Because he refuses to name her.

He had a name. The two of you had picked it together months ago, curled up on the couch with your head on his chest, laughing as you tossed ridiculous options back and forth before settling on something perfect. Something that had felt right.

But now, it just hurts.

The name belongs to a child that should have been born into a happy home, into a life where you still existed, where you were there to hold her, to whisper her name softly in the quiet hours of the night.

And so, Sebastian has not said it. Not once.

He takes another sip of his drink, lets the burn linger in his throat. Ominis doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t reach for the drink, doesn’t judge. He just sits beside him, hands folded in front of him like this is something they do all the time—like he is just another man drinking at a bar with a friend and not the only person standing between Sebastian and complete ruin.

Then, after a long pause—

“She has your scowl, you know.”

Sebastian exhales a short, breathless laugh before he can stop himself. It’s not real humor—it’s worn and exhausted, but it’s something.

Ominis hums. “Anne thinks she looks just like her mother, but I think she’s wrong. It’s your frown, through and through.”

Sebastian shakes his head, staring at the counter, swallowing down whatever rises in his throat. "She does look like her mother, Ominis. She has her eyes. "

Ominis doesn’t argue. He simply nods, fingers tracing the grain of the wooden bar, his unseeing gaze settled somewhere past Sebastian’s shoulder.

Sebastian knows he’s waiting. Waiting for him to speak, to say something, to feel something other than this endless, aching emptiness. But there’s nothing left inside of him to give.

He knocks back the rest of his drink instead.

The burn is sharp, searing its way down his throat, but it doesn’t drown the memory of your face as the light faded from your eyes, doesn’t erase the sound of the healers shouting over each other, the blood—so much blood—pooling beneath you.

Sebastian sets the glass down with a dull thud, rolling it between his hands. The bartender barely looks at him when he orders a refill; no one spares him a second glance. And he wonders, briefly, if that will change when he drinks himself under the table. If someone will care enough to drag him out. Or if they’ll just step over him like he’s nothing at all.

Ominis shifts beside him, exhaling through his nose. “You can’t do this forever.”

Sebastian snorts. “Who says I’m planning to?”

“I do.” Ominis tilts his head slightly. “Because I know you.”

Sebastian scoffs. He wants to argue, to snap something sharp and cruel, to push Ominis away, but the words won’t come, because Ominis does know him. Better than anyone. Better than he knows himself, sometimes.

A long silence stretches between them.

“She needs you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian flinches. His fingers tighten around his glass, but Ominis doesn’t let up.

“You may not be ready,” he continues, voice steady, unshakable. “You may never be ready. But she is here. Your daughter is here. And if you’re not careful, she’ll grow up without either of her parents.”

Sebastian inhales sharply. His pulse thrums in his ears, hot and unsteady.

He has never been good at confronting pain—not really. He spent most of his life running from it, lashing out at the world instead of letting it sink in. But there is no one to fight this time. No one to blame. No curse to break. No enemy to defeat.

Only this. Only the wreckage of what should have been a beautiful, long life with you.

Ominis shifts, standing from his stool.

"You can stay here if you want," he says simply. "Drink yourself into the floor. It won’t change anything." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few Galleons and setting them on the counter with quiet finality—less a payment, more an unspoken apology to the bartender for the trouble— before turning toward the door.

But then, he hesitates. And when he speaks again, his voice is softer. Not a warning, not a plea, just something quiet.

“She’s still waiting for you”

Sebastian swallows. His throat is tight, his chest aching with something sharp and suffocating.

He doesn’t move as Ominis leaves. Doesn’t move for a long time. And when he finally does, when he stands, shoving the untouched glass of firewhiskey aside and pulling on his cloak, the weight in his chest is still there. Still unbearable.

But there is something else, too. Something small. Something fragile.

Something like purpose.

He goes home.

[redheadspark]

Waited

Summary - Ominis and MC/reader meets their daughter for the first time.

Warnings - Just fluff with a HINT go angst!

A/N - I wrote this as a small add on from the one shots I wrote about Ominis and the little family he has! I hope you like it!

“Ah, there we are.  Let’s lay back,”

You sighed and leaned back in the hospital bed, a wave of relief and fatigue hitting you so hard that you were blinking slowly and yet still riding an adrenaline rush from what just occurred.  With your hands still shaking and your mind reeling, the nurse and Healer near you still spoke to you yet it sounded muffled.  All you could think about was your baby.

You just had a baby.

“Here she is.  Here now, here’s your mummy,” You felt a small weight of mass placed on your chest, you looking down at your eyes going wide at the sight of your baby.  A small little thing, fairly small which feels odd compared to the vigorous childbirth you just experienced.  No matter how many books you’ve read or the plenty of advice you got from others, including some of your classmates who had families of their own.  But now holding your child, it was different.  Almost like getting hit hard by a spell or some kind of hex, yet at the same time, it was just as thrilling as your first flight.

All from a baby.  From this new joy, you were waiting for.  Your daughter.

“Let’s do a check-up on her and yourself, dear,” The Healer explained as she stood a your bedside, you looking at her with a hint of concern as she threw up her hands, “Just to make sure you and your babe are safe and healthy.  Only for a few minutes, I promise,”

Reluctantly, you handed your daughter over, The Healer holding her comfortably within the crook of her arm as another Healer walked over to hand you a few freshly brewed potions.  She smiled at you, “For the pain and the fast healing,”

You took the tonic, the cool sensation hitting the back of your throat as you watched the Head Healer walk away with your daughter, who was gurgling and wiggling within her blanket.  With her pale and delicate skin and the peach fuzz of blond hair on her head, you were instantly in love with her as you felt the tonic start working along your body and under your skin.  You were focusing on your daughter as she was being checked on, though the Healer next to you rubbed your arm.

“Your husband’s been waiting for you outside in the hall, do you wish to see him now or rest?” She asked you politely.  

“Now, now please.” You said, sounding rushed at first but then calming yourself down.  She grinned, seeing how you were excited to have your husband with you in the room.  After she placed a cooling towel on your forehead, she walked over to the door and slipped out as you sat in the bed.  The Main Healer was working on your daughter in the corner, barely out of your sight behind a thin screen, and humming to herself as your baby was already vocalizing.  You were dreaming of this moment for months, starting at the very moment you found out you were pregnant.  That moment was frozen in time, you look at the Healer in shock since you went in for a check-up after being sick for a week or two.  But you were then smiling, looking down at your stomach and realizing there was life there.

The life that you and Ominis Gaunt created.

The door opened, and you looked over with a massive grin at the sight of your husband.  His wand in front of him shone a rhythmic red light, guiding him into the room with ease with the second Healer behind him.  He was sporting his Ministry of Magic clothes: a dark blue robe with his suit underneath and his blond hair pushed back smoothly.  It was cut short again thanks to a recent haircut you gave him, Ominis claiming he preferred you trimming his hair over the hairstylist in Hogsmeade.  

He nearly lost an ear from that appointment.  

“Ominis,” You breathed his name, Ominis looked in your direction and smiled at the sound of your voice.  You could see the look of relief on his face, his smile that always took your breath away was evident as he walked over to the bed.  You quickly looked over to see the Head Healer wrapping your baby back in a bundle with the blanket.

“Are you alright?” Ominis asked in concern as he found the side of the bed, sitting rather quickly with worry etched on his face.

“I’m fine, honestly,” you breathed out, Ominis smiling again as you rested against the pillows, “Sore but fine.  It was worth every second,”

“I thought of the worst,” he admitted to you sheepishly as he reached out with his spare hand to take yours.  You could feel how clammy he was with his palm against yours, but it was still strong when you saw the Head Healer walk back over to you.  Your daughter was swaddled nice and tight in a light green blanket, wriggling lightly but content in her wrap as the Head Healer placed her in your waiting arms.  Once again, she felt so light in your embrace, yet her blue eyes were watching you intensely as you grinned and felt tears in your eyes.  

Your daughter whimpered, Ominis perked up from the sound. He looked shocked, almost too shocked as he heard his child for the first time, “Is that our-“

“Daughter,” You ended it for him, seeing a soft smile on his face and looking as if he was about to break down into tears, “We have a little girl, Ominis.  Our daughter,”

“A girl?” He asked in a whisper, his voice so soft and yet about to break.  You breathed out shakily as you nodded rapidly and looked down at your baby again, her eyes still on you intensely.

“A beautiful girl,” You explained, “She has your hair, Ominis.  So light and yet fuzzy, and she has your nose too I think,”

Ominis wetly chuckled, tears were on his cheeks as he scooted a bit closer to you on the bed.  You could see the tears hitting his cloak as he wetly replied, “She’s already inherited the worst of me then.  I pity her,”

“No, not at all,” you said in a light plea as he chuckled and you giggled, “She’s absolute perfection, Ominis.  Everything about her looks perfect.”  You looked from your daughter to Ominis, seeing him try to hold it together as you were still holding your baby close.  You then thought of an idea.

“Here,” You said, taking your spare hand to his arm, “You should hold her,”

“Oh, what if I drop her?  What if—“ He was about to argue back with you, yet you patted his arm and started to move your daughter over in his direction.

“You will do no such thing.  She’s yours, Ominis, and I think she wants to meet you,” You reassured him, seeing him finally adjust and wrap his arms around her.  You watched as Ominis had your child tucked in protectively in his arms, his head tilted down in her direction as he felt her swaddle within his arms and fingers.  You were still tired and almost running on fumes, even with the tonics you drank working on overdrive within you for a speedy recovery.  Yet you were watching Ominis with your daughter, his daughter, and you never wished to look away.

With a careful finger, Ominis reached up to trace her nose, to which she cooed and smiled at the touch of his finger.  Ominis beamed from the sound of the baby, to which he leaned in a bit closer. She stayed still, watching her father just as intensely as she did when she was in your arms.  

“She’s so tiny,” he said, almost in worry as she gurgled lightly, “Are babies supposed to be this tiny?”

“She’s healthy that’s all that matters,” you reassured him as he brought her up to be nose-to-nose with him.  You lost your voice in that moment, seeing your husband and daughter have an instant connection with one another.  His nose barely touched hers, breathing in the unique baby scent she had, and you watched as she grinned and squeaked.

Ominis laughed at the sound.

“She sounds beautiful,” he breathed as you wiped your tears away gently.  He leaned up to kiss the top of her head, feeling her warm skin on his lips as he snuggled her close again, “Hello my darling.  I’ve waited quite some time to finally meet you, little one.  Your mother and I have waited, actually.  I’m already in love with you, I hope you know that,”

You saw her slightly smile from the sound of his voice, which was beyond soft and caring laced with love and peace.  Ominis laughed, “I can’t believe she’s finally here with us,”

“Here and safe in her father’s arms,” You commented in a broken tone, Ominis snapped his head over at you with a knitted brow, “I’m okay.  I’m just being a blubbering idiot watching my little family,”

Ominis smiled with a spare hand, reaching over to cup your face in his palm, “You are no blubbering idiot, sweetheart.  You are in fact a strong witch, strong enough to carry and bring our baby into the world.  I’m so proud of you, I don’t think I can love you any more than I do now,”

You kissed his palm as he looked back at your baby, who was now yawning and falling asleep in her swaddle.  As she drifted off to sleep, her head tucked into Ominis slightly and his nose grazing his vest, you clutched Ominis’s hand again.

“We need to think of a name for her,” You reminded him, “Since you were the one who wanted to wait,”

“Well, we had no clue if we were having a boy or a girl, and it was better to be surprised,” Ominis countered as he smirked back at his sleeping baby, “I don’t wish for her to have a name from my family,”

You nodded you remembering that conversation you both had a week prior.  It was going to be a mutual agreement from the pair of you: our child would not carry any name from his family lineage, “Of course.  But we do need to have her middle name be Poppy.  She needs to be named after her Godmother after all,” 

“I think that would fit her,” He agreed, “Plus I don’t think Poppy will be pleased if we used any other name.  What about….Jane?”

“Too plain,” you voiced, “Beatrice?”

“Sounds old.  It doesn’t fit our girl I think.  Maybe, Annalise,”

You shook your head, then perked up a bit from a name hitting the back of your mind.  You looked at Ominis as he was softly rocking her back and forth to help her sleep.

“Nora.” You voiced, Ominis still rocking her and yet his smile slightly got bigger as he nodded his head.

“Nora Poppy Gaunt.  I like the sound of it,” He replied, confidently.  He grazed her cheek with his finger again, though she stayed asleep and had no sign of waking up anytime soon, “Hello, our little Nora.  Aren’t you perfect already?”

You both watched and sat in silence for a few long moments as Nora was sleeping in Ominis’s arms, the bubble you three had together seemed to be strong enough to not be poked or shaken. You forgot that the Healers slipped out of the room to give you all private time together, and you were grateful.  Magic was still felt in your room with towels self-folding in the cupboards and the washing bowl magically changing to clean hot water.  His fingers traced her face to make her features, yet Nora was no phased at all as she slept on and had her first nap.  He felt her cheeks and chin, then her nose and the top of her ears.  It was as if he had the magic touch with Nora, seeing how she was letting her father touch her face with such carefulness and yet with intimacy as well.  

“Ominis,” You said his name softly, his eyes still aimed at Nora as he was still smiling and content with holding his newborn baby, “Your parents.  What are we going to say to them?”

Ominis barely looked up, the change on his face was clear at the mention of his family.  The last time you both saw them was when he told them of your engagement over a year ago, you remember that day early as you were clutching his hand tightly and facing his irate and judgmental mother and father.  Especially his father, who was furious and letting his thoughts about you be known.  Ominis immediately turned in his family crested ring to his father, ushering you out of the house as you were holding back tears and swore to his family he would no longer be in contact with them.

It was the last time you saw either one of his parents.  

Ominis stayed true to his word: relying on distant relatives to have you two get on your feet.  His relatives were kind to you, not as brash as his parents.  You saw the pain in his eyes for not having his family with him when you two were married, or even when you found your little cottage together to start your life in.  Although he missed parts of his family, he knew he could no longer go back.  

Maybe this was one of those moments.

“They will have no part of her life,” he voiced, sounding sure and true as you watched with some hesitance.  He took in a long breath, “I cannot, and will not, let her have the life that I had growing up.  A life that was cold and distant, and I know it came from my parents. She deserves better than that,” 

You felt that pain in his voice, making you place a hand on his arm as he held her close with protection and love, “And I know you would give her all the world if you could.  If there is one thing I know about you it’s this: you are not your parents.  You are far better, and Nora will know that,” 

“I don’t know if I’ll be better since I just met her,” Ominis said in worry, making you shake your head at him.

“Ominis,” You said his name, “Please listen when I say this: you are already an amazing father.  I remember when I first told you I was pregnant, you were over the moon at the thought of being a father.  You worked for months to make sure the cottage was ready for the baby, arranging and rearranging the furniture until you knew where everything was.  In fact, you were the first one to reach out to Natty and ask questions and what she did with her son and daughter.  You got so many books that some were left on the ground, yet we read through each one to be ready,”

You remembered all of those moments, Ominis rearranging the living room and small nook that was your bedroom to make sure there was room for the bassinet and the baby.  He read up on all of the books and texts, seeing and reading all the tips and tricks to childrearing. 

But most of all, he was keen reassuring you were safe and satisfied in your pregnancy.  Cooking foods you craved, rubbing your swollen ankles when you could barely walk, and picking you fresh flowers from the wildflower field outside your cottage near the lake.  He loved caring for you, asking you questions, or pondering if you felt the baby kick.  Wrapping an arm around your stomach when you two would sleep, feeling the kicking against his palm.  

He was already in love before he met Nora.

“You have been ready for her since I told you I was pregnant.  And now that I see you holding her, I know you’re going to be the best father Nora will ever have,” You promised him, sitting up a bit in the bed to kiss the side of his head lovingly and feeling him tremble against your lips, “There is no one else I would wish to raise a child with than you.  Only you, Ominis Gaunt, you understand me?”

Ominis nodded his head to then turni to face you and kiss you softly.  You felt that pain in his voice saw it in how he spoke about his parents.  All you could do was simply bring him up from being on his knees, push away the doubts that flooded his mind, and replace them with joy and happiness.  You loved everything about Ominis, from his stubbornness and straightforward phrases to his tender heart and need to do good.  You were far too in love with him to ever raise your child with someone else.

“Nora already loves you, and this is just her first hour.  She’s gonna love you for all her life, and you’ll love her until you stop breathing, won’t you?” You asked him boldly.  Ominis laughed and nodded his head as his smile was back on his face again.

“Nothing will stop me from loving her,” He swore to you as he then gestured in your direction, “And nothing will stop me from loving you either.  You both are my world now, and it's a brighter thanks to you two,”

Once again you both fell into silence, Ominis carefully placed Nora back in your hold as gently as he could to keep her asleep. 

“I shall write an owl to Poppy and Natty, as well as Garreth and Mrs. Weasley.  I’m sure they’re waiting to hear about Nora.  I’ll be only a moment or two,” He said as he moved out of the bed and stood up again.  With one more kiss against your head, he used his wand to navigate out of the room.  You were left with Nora, who had to care to wake up and listen in on her parent’s conversation.  You watched her, the reality sinking in that you were now a mother, and in charge of caring and raising a new human in this world.  What kind of witch would she be?  Kind?  Inquisitive?  Ambitious?  You had no clue.

All you could think about was the little baby in your arms, not even an hour old, and already insanely loved.

“I hope you know how lucky you are, having a father like him,” You whispered, scanning her face and grinning, “He’s an amazing man, you know.  Very kind, a bit brash and straightforward, and hardheaded.  But that’s a good thing, and I hope you inherit that from your dad,”  

Nora shifted a bit in your hold, though she was still deeply asleep and content in her swaddle.

“I think we both have been waiting for you for some time, sweet Nora.  You came at the right time when we needed you the most.  But I think your father needed you a bit more, and you are going to be loved by him far more than you can ever imagine.” You explained.  You can already picture it in your mind: Nora as a newborn being sung to sleep by Ominis, then Nora as a toddler with her light blond hair dancing behind her as she would run along the lake with you behind her.  Small moments engrained in your mind: Ominis teaching her some of his favorite songs, you show her how to skip rocks, and Ominis coaching her when the first whisps of magic appear.  

They were all beautiful moments, yet you haven’t had them just yet.

“I can’t wait to take you home and show you our garden.  I have a feeling you’re going to have a green thumb like me, I do hope so.  Your father planted a small tree for you, yesterday actually.  You decided to come into the world after he planted the tree and…” You stopped, fresh tears hitting your eyes and cheeks as you recalled the day before.

Ominis planting a small little tree he received from Professor Garlik, who gave you both the tree as a gift and a sign of a new life.  You were watching on the bench, Ominis making you sit since you were very far along in your pregnancy and were advised to be stress-free. He made sure the tree would grow in the perfect spot, finding soil that was rich and would get enough sun.  But of course, as he placed the soil over the bud, you felt your first contraction and you gasped out in pain.

Now, several hours later, you had your daughter.

“I love you so much, my Nora,” You whispered in tears, but they were tears of joy.  New life was there for you to hold, to cherish and nurture, to help grow and flourish.  Even with all the lives you lost in the past, including Professor Figg and Sebastian to Azkaban.  You wished they were here to meet Nora and to see how perfect she was, maybe play with her and give her the best advice. 

Sebastian would have been the best “Uncle” to Nora, the pair of them getting in mischief and becoming friends for all her life. Professor Figg would have spoiled her rotten and yet kept her grounded, you see him as a mentor to her as he was to you.  But they were both gone, robbed of a future and having happiness again.  One because of death, and the other because of a mistake that cost him his freedom. 

All you could do was move forward, with your daughter who was a sure sign of a new future that was bright and ready to thrive.  

You hummed and rocked Nora as she was fast asleep, just the two of you in the small hospital room as the rest of the world went on. Looking at this moment seemed like a lifetime, outlining her looks and the way her cheeks were plump along with her bell-shaped lips, you were engraining this image forever,  Deep down you knew that this would not be permanent, that her life was moving forward and there was no need to reverse.  

If only you could see the future, how the small bulb of a tree grew to be a massive tree that would stretch its limbs and branches to hover over your cottage in both protection and beauty.  And where your daughter would sit by the tree trunk, book in her lap as her long blond hair would float in the wind like the clouds, 

The End.

Tagged - @a-lumos-in-the-nox