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galaxiasgreen · 2 months ago

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🦡✨Troublesome and Unladylike

F!Reader shenanigans with Ominis/Reader [T-Rated, 6.2k words]

You turned back around, prepared to pay attention again, but Binns was coming your way. Literally, about to zone through the desk. Oh no, no, no! He'd see Ominis snoozing! Quickly your hand shot out, punching his arm in warning – but you were too forceful, batting it hard enough that his head slipped out of his grip and banged against the desk.

In which, your life changes twice in quick succession: the first, when you discover you have magic, and the second, when you meet an enigmatic blind Slytherin.

Tropes: romance/ humour/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, hijinks and shenanigans, Muggle culture, Magic from a Muggle POV, canon rewrite.

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

A/N: This is an 8-chapter companion to ACVAS that I recently completed! No prior reading is required; it's mostly Gibby shenanigans that run parallel to the story of ACVAS. Enjoy <3

The stranger came in the hush of evening.

"Ssshhh!" Connor had your arm gripped, keeping you still on the stairs landing. "Stop being so noisy!"

"You're the one being noisy!" you snapped.

"Both of you, shut up," said Ellian. "I want to hear what they're saying."

You and your older brothers poked your heads between the stair bannister, desperate to snatch a little conversation from the living room downstairs. Your mother and father had shooed you all to their bedroom, where your baby brother Tam was currently fast asleep on the cot. You were supposed to be keeping an eye on him as they talked to the stranger downstairs, but of course, the curiosity was too much to bear. It seemed to be a trait that ran in the family.

"Can't hear squat," muttered Connor. At near nineteen, he was an adult himself, yet still treated as a child when home. He wanted to move out, but had not yet made enough money in lumbering. "One of us needs to go down. Find out if she's married. You know. Purely for educational purposes."

Your brow furrowed. "I thought you were committed to Matilda Asher."

"A man can have options, little sister."

"You were down there when she came in," asked Ellian. "Didn't you get a good look at her then? Was she wearing a ring?"

"Didn't see. Mama threw me out too quickly."

"Wouldn't want your ugly mug anyway, I expect."

"Coming from someone with a face like a slapped arse?"

You huffed at them. "If Mama catches us down there, she'll skin us alive."

"Yeah, only if she catches us." Connor grinned, then nudged you. "You're the smallest. You go."

"What? I can't��"

"You don't make the stairs creak. It has to be you." He nudged you again, harder this time, towards the top step. "Go on."

So you did. Step by step, clutching your glasses to stop them rattling, you tiptoed down until you were almost on the level below. The door peeled into view – open, giving you a great view of the stranger. And no wonder Connor was smitten, as the woman had the most luscious red hair you'd ever seen, cascading down her back in two thick plaits. With her turned away it was impossible to decipher her expression, but her skin was moonlight pale, her corset cinched tightly around a slim waist, the dress like an ocean of seafoam.

"— have been living in hiding for thousands of years, but I can assure you, we are a thriving community here and worldwide!" Her voice was warm, musical. "She will be well taken care of."

"But— witchcraft?" your father was saying. You did get a view of him, scrambled right up the back of the sofa, clenching the armrest. "My daughter— a heathen?"

My daughter. Me?

"Not at all, sir! And neither am I."

"The Bible ain't say nothing about witches doing good."

"I promise I understand where you're coming from. When I discovered the truth, I was shocked as well! But it is no bad thing, to be a witch." Exasperation crossed the lady's voice when your parents made no move to acquiesce. "I can see this is distressing you both. Perhaps you'd like a demonstration of what we can do?"

She pulled out a stick – a magic wand, you recognised from Punch & Judy skits – and gave it a swish. The teapot on the table levitated in air, pouring itself a cup. Your parents made a distressed noise.

So did you.

Both their eyes jumped to you. The woman turned then, surprised.

You ran back up the stairs.

"Well?" asked Connor. "What—"

"She— made the teapot float!" you cried. "The stranger— she made it pour tea without touching it! Like... like magic!"

But Ellian scoffed. "How much toffee nougat did you eat?"

"It's true, swear it!"

"Come off it," said Connor. "Did you even see if she was married?"

You pouted. "Do you really think I was concentrating on her hand when she made a teapot—"

"I thought I told you three to watch Tam?"

You spun around. Your mother, at the foot of the stairs, glaring at you. Oh no. But instead of divvying out chores as punishment, she crooked a finger. "Come downstairs, sweetling. Connor, Ellian, so help me, you better watch Tam or—"

"Going! Going," called Connor, and he sounded exceedingly disappointed to have only been fed the crumbs of a lie.

The crumbs of the truth.

You clung to your mother's shadow as you stepped into the living room. Your father was on his feet, as was the stranger, who offered a bright smile to you, even held out her hand.

"It's so nice to meet you, young lady," she said, beaming. "My name is Mirabel Garlick."

Garlick? What a funny name. Still, you knew what was polite, and shook her hand back, even though you were used to curtseying.

"Come sit, sweetling." Your mother shut the living room door and ushered you to the sofa, squished between her and your father like a protective bubble. Your father still clenched the armrest. "Ms Garlick wants to talk to you."

"Am I in trouble?" you asked. Tears fluttered to your eyes. "Am I a— heathen?"

Your father rumbled. "No, not at all, sweetling. I just..." He trailed off, clearly perturbed.

"You saw what I did with the teapot, yes?" asked Ms Garlick.

You nodded, mute.

You had no idea, then, that your life was about to change.

"I'm what we call a witch. There is a whole community of people out there who have the same abilities as we do, to wield magic."

Witch. Magic. We? "But none of that exists, ma'am," you mumbled. "And witches are— bad."

"That trick with the teapot. Was that bad?"

Hesitantly you shook your head. Actually, it was rather cool.

"I used to be like you. Very ordinary – perhaps to a fault! I grew up in Shoreditch, you see, with no idea that magical folk existed. I had also been fed many unflattering stories, fairy tales where witches steal away naughty children. These stories tend to exaggerate what we truly are: people who happen to have an affinity for magic. Have you ever done anything you can't explain?"

"No..."

"Are you certain? Think hard on it, now."

Your parents looked at you expectantly. "Remember last month, sweetling?" your mother prompted. "When Ellian—"

"When he stole my teddy bear." You gasped. "The washing basket exploded!" You cottoned onto their meaning, staring at Garlick. "I did that?"

Garlick intertwined her hands – no ring. "Yes! Magical ability often awakens at your age, about ten." She placed a hand on her heart. "I've come to visit you today because I represent Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a secondary boarding school in Scotland, that teaches magic to hundreds of young witches and wizards such as yourself and enables you to bloom into your potential. You have been invited to join the new school year this September."

A school? Scotland? Why did that sound like a punishment? More tears filled your eyes. "But— I'm supposed to work at the confectionary with Papa, and Mama is meant to teach me more embroidery..."

Garlick leant forwards, eyes only for you. "I promise you, it is a wonderful experience. You'll learn many marvellous things that will prepare you for life as a young lady. Look at me, I'm a professor!"

A woman professor? And so young! That was almost unheard of.

"What do you teach?"

"A subject called Herbology, like gardening. But there are many subjects you will learn."

Still, you shifted, nervous. Garlick stood, which prompted your father to his feet as well, and pulled out a letter from her pocket, handing it to you.

"There is your acceptance letter, with a little more information. And!" She gave you a coin, one you'd never seen before, a dragon imprinted on the faces. "That there is a magical coin. Should you have any questions or concerns, you just rub the inscription, and I'll come as fast as I can. Currently I'm living at the school, but I'm happy to travel down to help you adjust." She looked at your parents. "I'll be in touch further about acquiring the necessary equipment and books before the start of term on the first of September."

"I-Is it really real?" you asked. "Magic?"

Garlick gave you a dazzling smile, and it made you feel a little less scared.

"It is! Hmm. Would you like one last trick, before I go?"

"Yes! Yes please."

She turned and pointed her magic wand at the door. "Accio."

The door swung towards her, with no prompt... and Connor and Ellian tumbled into the room.

"Ow, Jesus!"

"Connor, you ingrate—"

"Were you two there the whole time?" your mother thundered.

Garlick caught your eye, and you laughed, laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

When you first stepped into Diagon Alley, it was like someone reached inside you and stole your breath.

The crooked buildings lanced into the sky above, the air teeming with magic, and the street bustled with witches and wizards adorned in brightly-coloured cloaks and pointed hats. When you had read about witches, it was as Professor Garlick had suspected – they were terrifying, ugly creatures, boils on their faces, ragged clothes, dirt-clod fingernails and sinister motives. But Diagon Alley burst with vibrant life. There were owls and cats wrangling against cages, spells that popped like fireworks, stalls that served hot drumsticks, kebabs and battered fish. The smell alone drew you in, but Professor Garlick stopped you with a squeak.

"Now, hold on, hold on! Let's take a moment to process, shall we?"

A moment? You might need the whole day. Yet still your grin was unshakable as you watched two wizards exchange potted plants with flowers that were growing teeth, and a child eating a sweet that made her steam from the ears. Sometimes you passed witches that wore trousers, which when the initial shock wore off made you giddy with wild glee. Did that mean you could wear trousers too? Behind you, your parents were completely overwhelmed, you mother and father clutching each other's arms.

"Stay close, sweetling," your father said gruffly, but not even he could disguise his awe. "God, I need a cigar."

"We'll be meeting another family today," Garlick said cheerfully. "With another student raised in the non-magical world, like you."

"There are more like us?"

"Of course! Very odd, this year it seems there's only a handful starting, but not to worry. Most people are extremely friendly. They will help you whenever you need." She gestured them forwards, into the throng of shoppers. "Come, come!"

It didn't take you long to realise that, actually, aside from magic, these people weren't so different from your own. Witches hollered at one another, trying to outdo their displays of cauldron towers, another family laughed from the outdoor tables of a restaurant, their cutlery dancing. You were giddy when Garlick took you to Rosie Lee Teabag, the wizard version of a teashop, to meet an awaiting wizard and another family of three, including one trembling Indian boy, with brown hair and brown skin, hands fidgeting on the table.

"Pleasure to meet you all! I'm Carsten Bristlecone, Wizengamot undersecretary in the Ministry of Magic – ahem, the magical Cabinet, if you will." The wizard gestured to his charge. "This is Mahendra Pehlwaan. Remember what I said, Mahendra? This young lady is like you, raised in the non-magical world."

"N-Nice to meet you," stammered the boy.

"Hello!" you said brightly, giving a shallow curtsy. Well. Seemed like you were handling this whole magic thing a lot better than he was. "I'm excited to be friends!"

Both sets of parents exchanged pleasantries before your father insisted on grabbing a (very stiff) drink to see him through the day. You were rather impatient watching him nurse the glass rim, but Mr Bristlecone was eager to chat – mostly about himself, using terms that went right over your head.

"It was all out war, Professor! Imagine, a Niffler pack bold enough to steal Galleons from a leprechaun. Merlin's beard, I had to use Arresting charms to stop them mauling each other by the end!"

When your father had downed his whiskey, Garlick took you all to the bank to exchange shillings for wizard currency ("Oh my gosh, Mahendra, look how cool they are! They're goblins!"), then to the clothing shop for robes, the wand shop for wands, and the book shop for textbooks and quills. You could see your parents' expressions fall with each purchase – they never talked to you about money, of course, but it was always a pressing issue when their income was so modest. It was, apparently, one of the first questions your father asked when he found out you were accepted at the school, how much, precisely, it would cost. You didn't find out the answer, but you suspected that if it cost anything at all, you wouldn't be going.

You had just about bought everything now, the day waning into afternoon. Your parents were ahead, speaking to one another with Garlick and Bristlecone.

"This is sort of mad, isn't it?" you said to Mahendra. "That we're, you know, magical?"

"I still think this is an elaborate prank," he said, clutching tightly to the list of things they had to buy. "How do I know you're not a paid actress?"

"News to me if I was."

"I'm not ruling it out."

"So you think everyone here is paid?"

"Could be," he said stubbornly.

You rolled your eyes. "You're off your rocker." Then your gaze hooked on a shop to the distance, and your gasp made him flinch. "Mahendra, look! A sweet shop!"

"Sweets? That's not on the list."

You grabbed his jacket by the sleeve and dragged him to your parents. "Can we go to the sweet shop? Please? Pretty please? With hundreds and thousands?"

Of course, no one could really say no. If Heaven existed, this is what you imagined it would look like. So many varieties of sweets you'd never tried before, ones that changed your hair colour or turned your nose into a duck's bill, gum that blew balloons the size of a person and taffy that made you giggle like mad.

"We're just going to wait outside, sweetling," said your mother to you, as you were trying every flavour of sugar quill available. She leant close. "I think your father is beside himself with jealousy. Keeps grumbling about how our confectionary is better."

"He's right," you whispered cheekily. "Promise I won't buy much."

"Two things, that's all, all right?"

Mahendra stuck to your side through it all, perturbed by your enthusiasm. You had a terrible sweet tooth – which he commented on several times – but your parents didn't have enough money left, so in the end you only left with a sugar quill and a cauldron cake, and the secret promise you'd buy more when you were at Hogwarts proper.

"Can you see them?" you said outside, peering around through the crowds and clutching your paper bag close. "You're a bit taller than me."

Mahendra frowned. "No, but they can't be far."

"Let's look around!"

"What? No— hey, wait!"

You walked away anyway. Around the back of the building was a set of stone steps that descended into a crooked rope of an alley, lined with another litany of shop fronts. These, however, were painted with a stroke of night, all dark colours and gloom, and the people within equally dressed.

"Wow, cool! Shall we have a look? We haven't gone down here yet."

"What?" Mahendra shook his head. "No! The list doesn't say—"

"Oh, forget the list for a second, would you? We won't be long. Exploring is fun!"

You dragged him down the steps. A sign, you read, said Knockturn Alley, and for some reason it raised the hairs on your arms. A group of witches with hat brims that extended well below their eyes turned sharply to face you as you headed in deeper.

"I don't like this," said Mahendra.

You blew a raspberry. "You don't like anything."

"Don't you have any sense of self-preservation?" he said, exasperated. "We've lost our parents, and the two people who know this place better than all of us combined! We're in way over our heads here. I-I don't even want to be a wizard!"

Which was totally barmy. How could anyone discover all this and not feel intense wonder and awe? How could anyone learn that magic existed, and wish to return to a time when you didn't? You stopped in front of a bulging shop front, boasting some sort of strange artefacts. Necklaces, crockery, crusty tomes, old lanterns... Borgin and Burkes, read the sign. The door jingled, and out exited a man of pale, gaunt countenance. His gaze flickered to you.

"Hello!" you said cheerfully.

His expression soured.

"Mudblood spawn..."

You had no idea what that meant, and the man didn't elaborate when he strode briskly in the opposite direction. It didn't seem... particularly friendly. Strange, since Garlick insisted that most magical folk were really nice. You turned to the shop.

"What an oddball. Should we go in?"

"Absolutely not!" Mahendra squeaked. "We shouldn't— not without Ms Garlick, at least. Let's go back. Please. This place doesn't feel safe."

You pouted. "Fine. Bore."

Only, when you turned back around to go the other way, it seemed like the alleyway had changed, the cobblestone below your feet shifting leftwards rather than straight. Were alleyways meant to do that? Someone behind you sniggered, which finally tugged your smile into a frown. Now you had no idea how to get out, and by the dawning panic on his face, Mahendra knew it too.

"Now we're lost. We're going to die here! Die surrounded by—"

"Would you stop? Everything is hunky-dory. We just need to find an exit. We can ask someone!"

"Ask someone? They look like they'd sooner eat us for breakfast!"

"No they wouldn't." You laughed. "It's far too late for breakfast. Lunch, maybe."

Mahendra whinnied.

"You two!"

Luckily, Bristlecone came rushing towards them, hoisting his ruby cloak, and you had to admit, you did feel a sense of relief.

"What were you thinking, running off to this place? It's not safe here for your— it's not safe. Come now, make haste!"

Your parents scolded you when you returned. Too curious for your own good, they said, waggling their fingers. Bristlecone agreed, mumbling about safety against the ruffians and scoundrels that frequented Knockturn Alley – as it turned out, not a nice place for the normal person. Mahendra's parents reprimanded him, too, which did make you feel bad. So bad that you offered him your cauldron cake.

"Peace offering?" you said, sheepish. "For getting you into trouble?"

"I don't like sweets."

"I don't believe that."

Mahendra hesitated, then took it, trying not to smile. "Fine. Just don't get me in trouble again."

But you grinned.

"No promises."

You sobbed on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

You were excited, of course. Wildly, incomparably excited, bursting from you like lit gunpowder. You had your books and clothes and things all packed haphazardly in a trunk and wheeled to platforms nine and ten. You were awed again when, with Bristlecone and your parents, you ran straight for the brick wall separating the two platforms, and ended up in another place entirely.

Your father was gruff. "Might've hit my 'ead on the way through. How's there another pla'form between the pla'forms?"

Your mother hushed him, though you could tell she secretly agreed. They'd never get used to magic. You doubted you would either.

Bristlecone helped put your things in the carriage as you looked around. Parents were everywhere, hugging goodbye to their children. Trunks and cages were being manhandled inside, students trading hellos and homework like coin. You spotted a few who had to be your age, in your year, but you'd never met someone raised in the magical world. What if you were too different to fit in?

Mahendra was already there, having gone through the wall before you. His parents and he were checking and re-checking a list, because of course they were. When the train tooted, signalling its looming departure, you turned and threw yourself into your parents' arms, the tears coming hot and fast.

"You be good, sweetling, aw'right?" said your father. "You write us every day now."

"I will," you mumbled into his jacket.

"And you make sure you— do your homework and behave," your mother blubbered. "I don't know how magic works, but you be careful too. It's a blessing to go to school, so make the most of it."

You nodded, because nothing but distressed grunts would come out if you tried to speak again.

You were still sniffling when you boarded the train with Mahendra, hands trembling as you held your glasses and wiped your blouse sleeves across your face. Soon the station was far behind, and the sights were blurring past as the long journey to Scotland began.

"Still think you're being pranked?" you asked him, if only to distract yourself.

Mahendra shrugged. "Won't believe it until I see it."

You already believed. You had to now. You'd left your old life behind.

Nonetheless, sympathy softened his edges. "Shall we find a seat?" he asked gently.

You nodded, following his lead down the corridor. Most of the older students had taken residence in the compartments, chatting, yelling, eating sweets – something you looked forward to – and scribbling last-minute essays. But the older kids were intimidating and often gave you strange looks as you passed, and Mahendra, not one to rock the boat, didn't bother dipping in to ask.

The first compartment that he paused at was one only occupied by three people, two girls and a boy. Diminutive in height, they had to be about eleven or twelve, first years like you. Their light-hearted expressions dimmed when Mahendra knocked and slid open the door.

"Hello," he greeted. "Are— are you first years, too?"

The first girl, dark hair, clearly some East Asian ancestry, slid her gaze to the other two, before smiling. "Yeah, we are. Don't recognise either of you though."

Did they all know each other? You put on a brave face, peering over Mahendra's shoulder. "Well, it's nice to meet you. We're new!"

"Obviously," said the boy, and something glinted in his eye. "Muggle-borns, are you?"

Born to non-magical parents, Garlick had told you. "Yeah!"

The other girl's brow lowered. "Bet this is all so overwhelming to you."

Mahendra froze, but you were determined. "A little! So it'll be nice to talk to with people who already know all the hoo-ha about magic."

The first girl strode over to them and grasped the door.

"It would be." Her smile turned wicked. "Too bad we don't sit with Mudbloods."

She slammed it shut in your face.

The partition didn't dampen how hard the other two laughed.

Your temper rose at once. How rude! You weren't always perfectly mannered, but you knew never to do that. That would earn you a striking at church, and you were prepared to let her know just how impolite that was before Mahendra yanked your sleeve down the train's corridor.

"Let me go! That was so mean of them! We should set them straight—"

"No!" He grasped your arm tightly. "No, leave it, please. I don't want to make enemies before we've even got to the school."

"But they laughed at us! What did we even do?"

What is a Mudblood?

But he shrugged. "I don't know, but please, I am begging you, don't cause trouble. There must be a better place to sit further down."

There was, as it turned out, another compartment three down, with two redheaded boys. You thought they were related at first, but one's face was round and freckled, boyishly young, whereas the other was stocky and tall. After being mocked so callously before, both your and Mahendra's courage had whittled thin, but when you knocked and timidly asked whether you could share the apartment, the two boys were more than happy to accommodate.

Still, as they introduced themselves as Garreth and Leander, prodded you with questions about the non-magical, Muggle, world, and your unease settled, you thought back to what that girl had said. Mudblood. What was that, and why did everyone keep hissing it like a rude word?

Why did it make you feel so small?

When the Sorting Hat called your name into the silent, anticipatory hall, you squealed.

It was rather embarrassing, really, but the noise had emerged from your throat before you could help yourself, and travelled through the hall like a ripple in a pond. The boy behind you had clapped his hands over his ears, and Mahendra had glared at you, so you muttered a quick apology before scurrying up the dais onto the stool.

Deputy Headmistress Weasley placed the Sorting Hat upon your head, and you squeezed your eyes shut, expecting there to be some kind of pain with an article of clothing rummaging in your thoughts. Some people had been instantly Sorted, the Hat barely grazing their hair before it rang out with a house.

For you, however, it pondered.

"You're quite a spitfire, aren't you?" it mused. "You like to explore, you like to learn, combined with a healthy dose of bravery, yes... that would make you suited to Gryffindor."

Garreth and Leander had been singing Gryffindor praises on the way up. The amazing and brave house, they called it.

"But..."

"But, Mr Hat?"

"You're unfailingly loyal and hardworking, too, and such traits are valued in Hufflepuff."

The nice, boring house. "Oh, well, Leander didn't seem particularly impressed with it," you said timidly, "but your description doesn't make it sound so bad... which one is better?"

"No house is better than the other."

As long as it's not Slytherin, you thought, remembering what Leander had said about them, too. That's the evil house.

You'd forgotten, however, that your thoughts at that moment weren't private.

"Slytherin values ambition and cunning," the Sorting Hat remarked, not unkindly. "It values its own sort of loyalty – to the self and to its own. It values using cleverness to create advantageous situations. There is nothing inherently evil about it. It is all in the application."

"Are you... going to put me in Slytherin, sir?"

It let out a wry laugh. "Slytherin is in your future, that's for certain... but it is not the house for you."

You tilted your head. "What do you mean, Slytherin is in my future?"

"Sit upright, if you please. I don't want to slip off your head."

You corrected your position and glanced at Professor Weasley; her smile was slowly faltering. The Hat was taking longer than most to deliberate – and it was eating at you with worry. Your face, flushing with heat as whispers began to break out.

"Indeed, it is your bravery and loyalty that will see you through your years," the Hat remarked. "Which trait is more important to you?"

"Gosh, that's a really big question, Mr Hat," you mumbled, "Both are good. I can't decide."

"Think on it, if you had to choose."

Fleetingly the thought came – well, bravery was all well and good, as was a love to explore, but what use was that if you didn't stick to your friends and family when the time came? What good was it if you didn't show compassion to others along the way?

"Ah," said the Hat. "I understand now."

Panic struck you. "Oh, but what if I don't fit in?"

"Fitting in is overrated." But before you could retort, it called out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" and you were being ushered down to the yellow house. Briefly your eyes caught Garreth – giving you a thumbs-up – and Leander, shrugging with a sort of sad oh well.

Then you saw Mahendra, and noticed he was nodding his head. He approved of something you did? There sure was a first time for everything.

When the Sorting concluded, Garreth and Leander both went to Gryffindor, and Mahendra Ravenclaw, the swot house – no surprises there, because he was too neurotic for his own good – and the Welcoming Feast appeared on the tables with the wave of Headmaster Black's hand. You certainly felt welcome. You'd never seen so much food in your life, and you lived in a sweet shop! Quickly you filled your plate with everything available – all the meat especially, which you only ever ate on rare days.

"Slow down!" the girl next to you said, laughing. "You'll give yourself a tummy ache!"

She was probably right. Perhaps seven chicken drumsticks was a little too much. Sheepishly you put a few back on the platter.

"I'm Adelaide Oakes," she said. "We're going to be sharing a dorm together."

"Nice to meet you!" you said cheerfully. "I'm—"

"I know who you are." Adelaide giggled. "Can't forget the noise you made when your name was called out!"

"Sorry," you said awkwardly.

"It's all right. My uncle told me during his Sorting one of the boys fainted on the stool, so you're doing better than him."

You spoke to her for the rest of the meal, gleaning little more tidbits about the magical world, and how vast and overwhelming it really was. Maybe the Hat was right, that fitting in was overrated, but you did want to fit in a little. Sometimes she said words you simply didn't understand – words that were utter gibberish – and too timid to ask what she meant, you stuffed more food into your mouth to obscure your ham-fisted responses.

You were surprised someone didn't have to roll you out of the Great Hall when the prefects led everyone to their houses.

The students bottlenecked in the foyer, and though you tried to keep a look out for Adelaide, you lost her amongst the sea of black robes. The seventh years were so tall! How was anyone supposed to see anything? Jostled off your feet, you nearly stumbled into the wall before you swerved into what looked like another queue of first years – the pair of first-year twins were in front of you, whispering to themselves.

When the lines thinned, you rocked on your feet, waiting to go to your dorm.

"You're in the wrong place."

You swung around, almost hitting the boy in the face with your hair. He looked vaguely familiar – a name called out amongst yours during the Sorting, and though you didn't remember what his name was, he was definitely a first year, even though he was at least an inch taller. His wheat-gold hair was loosely combed back, posture straight and chin high, all a match with his high-born accent.

Goodness, you'd never met someone so posh before. Was he the descendent of some totty gentry? Were you supposed to curtsy? Call him milord?

But you merely tilted your head as he stared at the ground beyond you, his eyes like strange, chalky pearls. "Aren't we going to the form rooms?" you squeaked.

His frown tightened. "You're meant to be going to the Hufflepuff common room." He roughly jerked his wand to the clump of students bobbing around on the other side of the foyer, hoods lined in gold. "Your house is over that way."

You took notice of his robes then – green, with the insignia of the snake. Slytherin, the evil house. Or... maybe not so evil? You followed his wand point and spotted a blonde head with the Hufflepuffs. Adelaide.

"Oh!" You let out a sheepish giggle. "Thanks!"

He didn't respond as you walked away, and though it was a simple act to correct your hapless ability to follow directions, you thought perhaps that the Hat had been right, and Leander wrong. He'd been effortlessly aloof, but not mean. If that was indication of Slytherin values, then they seemed perfectly nice. That boy... seemed nice.

You thought your life had already changed, so you didn't know then, of course, that meeting him would change it all again.

As fate would have it, you met him properly the next day, and learnt his name when you were partnered in Charms – Ominis Gaunt, a strange name for a strange boy. Blind, yet able to detect his surroundings as easily as you could. Enigmatic, for despite his bluntness his expressions never gave much away. Pure-blood, though gracious to you and your very obvious working-class, and worse, Muggle, upbringing.

You had a very clear idea of who he was by Herbology, the next class. You'd unfortunately made him late – a poor combination of his lack of sight and your lack of, well, understanding of the magical world. He'd made his disdain known, so you were quite certain this boy would follow rules, finish all his homework on time, never stray too far from the teachers' leash. You were quite certain he was going to be uptight forever.

Your mind changed by the afternoon's History of Magic class.

This was a subject that excited you. The class, for one, would fill in the gaps Muggle history could not explain. Now that you knew magic existed, you had so many questions. Was Jack the Ripper a wizard? Was the Great Fire of London started by a wayward Fire charm? Did the queen know all about this too? The subject was also taught by a ghost, which was the coolest thing ever. A ghost! Yet despite your intrigue in the founders of Hogwarts, Professor Binns could, frankly, put a brick wall to sleep.

He put Ominis to sleep in ten minutes.

You saw him wobble in your periphery, and you slid your gaze over. Eyes shut. Head leant in slender hand. Quill abandoned in the ink well. For someone whose expression seemed permanently stuck somewhere between disregard and a full-on scowl, it was strange to see him at peace, comfortable enough that he could, in fact, doze.

On the first day! The first History of Magic class!

Perhaps you'd tired him out. That was a possibility, given he didn't respond very much to your rapid-fire chatter. Still, you didn't want him to risk getting caught, so when Binns wandered through the desks – literally, through them – towards the stained glass window depicting the founders, you leant over to him.

"Pssst. Ominis."

No response.

"Ominis?"

"Mmm. What?"

"You should pay attention, don't you think?"

"Already know it all."

"About the Hogwarts founders?" You frowned. "How?"

He didn't answer. Maybe it was a magical child thing, to already know about the school. It seemed most of the others in your year had long-since known Hogwarts was part of their destiny, after all. You turned back around, prepared to pay attention again, but Binns was coming your way.

Literally, about to zone through the desk.

Oh no, no, no! He'd see Ominis snoozing! Quickly your hand shot out, punching his arm in warning – but you were too forceful, batting it hard enough that his head slipped out of his grip and banged against the desk.

The room went silent. He drew up slowly, eyes open and furious, as you withheld a strangled gasp.

"Something the matter?" Binns floated to your left. "What was that noise?"

"S-Sorry Professor!" you squealed at once, a lie unspooling. "I, erm... just got so excited, I had to... slap my hand... against the desk!"

"Slap... your hand... against the desk..."

"Don't you do that? You know, Oh, Aston Villa won the Challenge Cup? Hurrah!" You slapped your hand on the desk – and Lord, the pain. When Binns looked at you like you were quite mad, and Ominis grimaced, you quickly added, "It's just, erm, I'm really excited to learn about Saladin—"

"Salazar."

"— Salazar Slytherin, you know?"

There were a snort from behind. Sebastian, who probably saw the whole ordeal.

Binns' expression didn't change. "I'd caution against doing that a third time. A desk is for writing, not for Bludger bat practice."

Whatever the heck that meant. "Yes, sir."

He went back to his lecture, and you dared glance at Ominis. His bottom lip jutted out, and now that Binns was gone he was massaging his forehead.

"You know," he muttered, "a simple he's coming this way would've sufficed."

"I know. I didn't think."

"Obviously."

"Sorry."

"It was only my entire forehead, of which I'm certain won't painfully bruise." You winced, but then he said, with surprising lightness, "Your excuse was dreadful, by the way."

"It worked, so that's all that matters."

"Mind you don't use it again. I doubt it'll work a second time."

You nodded, then cursed yourself – he couldn't see it. "Thank you for giving me the name."

"Don't mention it. Ever." His lips rolled. "And though your method was crude... thank you for helping me escape detention."

You almost wanted to brag to Mahendra, seated somewhere at the back of the classroom. See? I'm not trouble all the time.

You glanced at Ominis, rubbing his forehead.

Only most of it.

Thank you for reading! Please like/ reblog if you enjoyed <3

[read Chapter 2 on AO3, read Chapter 2 on Wattpad] [Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow #mahendra pehlwaan #muggle world #hogwarts legacy fanfic #troublesome and unladylike #acvas #gibby #my writing #my stuff

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