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[the-right-thyme]

Four Seasons of Anne Sallow- Chapter 3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50048131/chapters/127388635

Characters: Anne Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow

Relationship: Anne Sallow / Ominis Gaunt

Warnings: One sided attraction

Summary: Ominis is blind on more than one way.

Chapter Three: Autumn 1890

Hogwarts was made for winters, Ominis thinks, wriggling his back into the plush cushion of the best chair in the common room, perfectly angled next to the fire and away from the draft of the common room door, temperature just right.

The smell of pine fills the room, from the christmas trees he knows are adorning the corners of the room. It’s blissfully empty, most of the school already home for the holidays, Sebastian out blasting holes in the clocktower with a few of the other stragglers at the worst-kept secret duelling club he’s so fond of. It’s been a quiet, comfortable evening with just Anne as company. She’s been fiddling with something on and off for the last hour, Ominis too polite to ask her what it is. She makes a little satisfied hum in her throat and the common room is filled with a slightly scratchy rendition of what he recognises vaguely as an Arthur Sulli-

‘Ominis.’ She says, determined, resolute. It’s the same tone Sebastian uses before such phrases as please don’t be mad but- and I know I said I wasn’t going to but-.

He closes the book his wand is interpreting for him with a soft snap. Ready to talk Anne down from whatever misinformed deed she thinks is worth leaving the warm cocoon of the common room in the name of mischief is.

‘Can you dance?’

He blinks.

‘Y-yes. Of course.’ He stammers, thrown off kilter, confused. And really, she should know, of course he can. His family takes great pride in touting the old ways. A mixture of pretentious and archaic teachings from his childhood engrained as deeply as breathing, involving elocution, etiquette and, oddly enough, how to waltz and polka like a proper gentleman. Quite how it fits in with torturing muggles was anyones’ guess.

‘Teach me.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Right.’ He says, standing obediently, smoothing the front of his shirt down, waistcoat long abandoned over the back of his chair. ‘Dancing.’ He takes a step forward, clear of obstacles.

‘So, you uh-’

He holds his arms out, beckons Anne with his fingers. Her hands are warm in his.

‘It’s simple, really. A couple of steps. Just follow my feet.’

He talks her through a series of box steps slowly. She’s quick to learn, only bumping her shoes out of time against his a few times.

‘Next, you place you hands like this-’ He guides her arm to his shoulder, the other clasped in his hand as he arranges them just so, placing his own free arm round the back of her waist when he’s happy with her position, until they’re both standing in a suitably passable closed hold. He feels her body heat permeating through his shirt. 

‘Excellent.’ He says, and, goodness, has his voice alway been that high pitched? He’s suddenly acutely aware of how ungainly and lanky his limbs seem, how clammy his hands suddenly feel, and how he distressingly hasn’t washed since the morning. It can’t be pleasant. But she doesn’t voice any displeasure, doesn’t voice anything at all.

‘And then you put it together, follow my lead.’ He battles on, nods along to the rhythm of the song, finding their pace, and starts them up in time.

It’s not, practiced, or particularly graceful, would never have been considered acceptable by his family's’ impossibly high standard, but it is fun. After a few steady bars, he even dares a swing, smiling as Anne laughs, twirls herself around, hand finding his again easily on the return. It continues, in a comfy sort of silence between them, filled only with the music and their shuffling steps. His mind blanks as the song starts to slow, Anne presses closer, box steps all but forgotten. They end up sort of, rocking, on the spot, swaying from foot to foot. It wasn’t technically dancing, he wanted to say, but Anne sighs happily, apparently content enough. His chest goes heavy, as if a great weight was pressing down, stalling his breath. It hits him, with an odd swooping feeling in his stomach, that the sensation is real, as he registers Anne’s head pressing into him, her hair tickling his chin. He chews at his lip nervously, aware he’s sweating. It feels only natural, as if some forgotten part of his brain is more aware than his conscience self, when he rests his cheek gently on the top of her head. She murmurs something intelligible, he feels it reverberating in his chest, the swooping sensation dipping when-

CRASH

The doors of the common room burst open, Ominis propels backwards as though her skin had suddenly turned scalding, stumbles slightly, surprised out of his reverie. 

‘You’re back early.’ He can almost hear Anne crossing her arms as she speaks.

‘No I’m not, it’s quite late, why, what were you doing?’ Its Sebastian, of course. Ominis realises the gramophone is still spinning idly, music finished, crackling white noise to itself in the background.

Anne says ‘Dancing.’ the same time Ominis utters ‘Nothing.’ 

Their answers feel significant in a way he can’t explain.

‘Ominis…you dance?’ He sounds, teasing. For no discernible reason it angers him. He opens his mouth to rebuke, but Anne beats him to it in a tirade of nonsensical ramblings and insults he can’t interpret.

‘Woah Anne, sorry-ow-I wasn’t prying I just wondered-ow-what you were-ow-doing, you both looked so guil-OW- stop hitting me.’

Ominis hears their scuffle, dull thuds and replying grunts that suggest Sebastian will be complaining of bruises tomorrow.

‘All right all right I’m going I get it, sheesh.’ He listens as Sebastian crosses the room, disappears up the steps to their room, his footsteps muted on the carpet. Anne lets out a breathy laugh.

‘My brother has the worst timing.’

Ominis feels himself nodding, agreeing with what, he isn’t sure. An expectant silence follows, a clock he’s never noticed before ticking in the background.

‘We ought to get to bed, I didn’t realise the time.’ Anne sighs out eventually, sounding…defeated.

It’s that forgotten part of himself again, the part that apparently has social conformities committed to his subconscious, that makes him reach his hand out blindly, how else, palm up. He hears her shuffle back to him, place her hand tentatively in his. He grasps it, fingers encircling hers, brings the back of her hand up to his face, places a single dry chaste kiss, lips barely touching, before letting go. She doesn’t make a sound. 

Ominis tries smiling, hopefully in her direction, says goodnight as he makes his way after Sebastian, only silence in his wake.

[the-right-thyme]

Four Seasons of Anne Sallow- Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50048131/chapters/126373558#workskin

Characters: Anne Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow

Relationship: Anne Sallow / Ominis Gaunt

Warnings: One sided attraction

Summary: Ominis is blind on more than one way.

Chapter Two: Spring 1889

It’s all Sebastian’s fault.

Generally, all ideas that end in detention, injury or some form of humiliation, usually at his expense Ominis would like to one day point out, are of Sebastian’s particular brand, hare-brained and half-cooked in their nature. If Sebastian opens his mouth and the words that follow are ‘I have an idea!’ Ominis really thinks he should practice his hundred meter dash in the opposite direction, lest he end up knees deep in the greenhouse fertiliser pile again. He’s sure the smell of fermenting hippogriff dung still follows him around to this day.

But today’s misadventures have seen them falling through the unstable floor of a decrepit, long-forgotten room, tucked away in one of the seemingly endless secret and tucked-away corners of the castle, into what he can only assume, is a storage basement, scarcely made to accommodate a barrel or two, let alone three snooping students. Well, two snooping and one put-upon tag-a-long, he thinks as Sebastian’s knee collides painfully with his brow as they lie in a heap of limbs at the bottom.

‘I can’t see a thing.’

‘Imagine that.’ Ominis huffs.

‘Oh Salazar’s sideburns, I can’t feel my arm!’

‘That’s my arm you’re poking, you dolt.’ Anne wheezes as she speaks, he guesses she may have been the soft landing that broke his fall, the poor girl.

‘Lumos.'

‘Careful where you stick that, you nearly took my eye out.’ Sebastian’s voice is very high and mighty for someone who’d just led his sister and his best friend to their doom.

‘Why did you even bring me?’ He whines, thinking of how he could be sat in front of the common room fire, curled up on his favourite seat closest to the heat, a cup of tea in his hand.

‘You’re our voice of reason.’

‘Well the voice of reason says let’s go back to bed.’

‘I hear the voice of reason, and I ignore it.’ He didn’t even have the audacity to sound apologetic at all. The absolute cretin, Ominis thinks darkly. 

‘Ah-hah! What’s this here… a lever?’

‘That’s my other arm.’

‘Oh. Ow-Stop bloody squirming Ominis, Merlin’s beard your elbows are bony and digging right in my-’

‘I have literally no concept of what’s who right now, don’t test me.’ He snaps, receiving another knee to the face.

‘I’m going to kill Garreth, he said this was a tunnel that lead to the kitchens.

‘Why did you believe-’

‘-Anne, your hair is up my nose.’ Sebastian snuffles. There’s a distinct wet noise he feels on his face.

‘Did you just sneeze in my ear?’ Ominis hopes for Sebastian’s sake he didn’t because that might be the final straw in tonights escapades. 

‘Her hair is getting everywhere. Puh-argh, now it’s in my mouth, Anne, you get up first.’

‘Well stop eating it then!’ There’s more shuffling, Ominis regains use of his legs and he manages to finally stand, firmly wedged against whatever it is that’s next to him.

He lets out an almost silent -oh- as he realises. Anne. The space they’re in is clearly cramped, and as such, he’s now pressed flush against her, chest to chest, if his senses aren’t deceiving him. Which they are. 

Side effect of the head concussion he’s most likely brewing he thinks desperately. 

The skin under his collar is prickling and suddenly he feels hot, stifled despite the relatively cool night. He’d pull at it, loosen his tie, if his arms weren’t wedged to his sides. Sebastian is still complaining, his voice coming from behind him, scrabbling for an exit.

‘This is rather cosy.’ Anne murmurs, her voice low, and he can hear the smile on her lips. But before he has a chance to think of a suitable, sophisticated reply, Sebastian lets out an -aha- followed by a sort of triumphant trumpet noise, and a gust of air indicates something above them has been cleared. More scrabbling and the weight behind him disappears. 

Their bodies part. 

Anne is pulled, or climbs, out next, then Sebastian’s hands are on his outstretched ones, assisting him up, dusting his shoulders as he stands on gloriously solid ground once more. Breathless and unsure why. There’s a pause. He can sense Sebastian still hovering in front of him.

‘Ominis, you’re aware blushing is visible, right?’

He considers pushing Sebastian back down.

[the-right-thyme]

Four Seasons of Anne Sallow- Chapter 1

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50048131/chapters/126373405

Characters: Anne Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow

Relationship: Anne Sallow / Ominis Gaunt

Warnings: One sided attraction

Summary: Ominis is blind on more than one way.

Chapter One: Autumn 1890

‘Oh Ominis. Sebastian sent word by owl, told me everything. I came as soon as I could.’

Ominis does his best to hold back the unimpressed huff that threatens.

He’s really far too happy that Anne’s here, in Hogwarts of all places, as if her absence since last year was just a bad dream, to take much offence at his best friend sharing the more private parts of his life he wished would remain so. Far too happy to lecture her about journeying from Feldcroft on her own, in spite of her steadily declining health.

‘Does it still hurt?’ She asks, tentatively, her fingers brushing his cheek. He’d forgotten about it, in all truth, until that moment. Her light fingers spark sleeping nerves back to life, and he’s suddenly aware of the bruised skin in a flush of heat that spreads further than his father hand did.

‘I’m fine,’ He says automatically, taking a minute step back, hoping it’s re-assuring, she has absolutely no business worrying about him, in her condition. He hears her chuckle, but there’s no mirth to it.

‘Sebastian said you’d say that.’

‘Sebastian likes to think everyone else’s business is his business.’ He really can’t help the indignant huff that escapes him that time.

She sighs. There’s a few seconds of silence, disturbed only by the background castle chatter and the far-off notes of Bocherrini’s Minuet filtering through.

‘He was worried, that’s all.’

Ominis sniffs. Resists the urge to argue it wasn’t worry that led Sebastian to ignoring his request and sneaking after him to spy in the first place. She sighs again. A heavy weary thing.

‘I’m going to hug you now.’

Anne doesn’t give him a chance to rebuff, her arms looping round him, clasping together gently at the small of his back. He knows he’s too tense. She hums against him, the sound rumbling.

‘For your information, it’s uncomfortably weird hugging someone who’s just standing there like they’ve been petrificus totalus-ed.’ She leans back slightly. ‘Here.’ 

She re-positions them, her arms under his, snaking up his back, palms pressing into the point where his shoulder blades meet, it brings their bodies closer, her forehead ever so gently resting on his shoulder. He lets his arms rise, hovering, unsure what to do with them. He settles for patting her back, hopes it conveys the right amount of affection for the current predicament. 

She’s always been overly tactile, even from the first day they met. He thinks back, the way she’d always touched his shoulder in greeting, as if to say ‘I’m here’. He’d never quite had the heart to tell her she doesn’t need to. He thinks of the way she liked to fully link their arms, between classes, half dragging him along. The way the side of her hand pressed against his cheek as she leant in during a History of Magic class to whisper a quiet, private joke, minty breath tickling his ear. It’s not, comme il faut, but that must just be the way she is with everyone, he supposes, not having the power of observation on his side. He’s missed her, their easy friendship.

She laughs, sounding almost like her normal self, and it positively vibrates through him. Something long forgotten uncoils in the pit of his stomach, he holds his breath.

The moment passes.

She lets go, her hands slipping away as she takes a step back. 

He feels lost as she does so, like his wand snuffed out momentarily, cast into an abyss.

‘C’mon, let’s go find Sebastian.’ She says, sounding resigned, not looping her arm around his.

[the-right-thyme]

Lucilin Black: A Dark Caress (a HL story)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50284582

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Original Black family member

Warnings: Non-con kiss, ableist language. All mild.

Summary: Sebastian meets Ominis’ betrothed.

‘Oh là là, if it isn’t the little Sallow lap-dog.’

Sebastian looks up at the witch speaking. Not much older than them, but definitely a woman. 

She’s beautiful; tall, willowy, tumbles of gently curling jet black hair framing her perfectly proportionate delicate face, her eyes dark brown, iris’ almost black where they merge with the pupils. She’s wearing a deep purple and black laced corset dress affair, tight fitting and scandalously low in all the right places. Beautiful in much the same way he thinks the iridescent feathers of the occamy are. From afar, preferably with a thick dragon hide gown between them. It takes him a few seconds of gawping to realise despite saying his name, she isn’t talking to him. Her focus is entirely, intensely, on his friend stood next to him. He’s almost a bit jealous.

‘Lucilin, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Comes Ominis’ curt, overly enunciated reply. The same voice he uses for all acquaintances, the voice that makes people think he’s a much colder person than he really is.

‘I heard your father made an example of you, mon cher Ominis.’ Her smile is more of a smirk; her voice melodic, the vowels an accented edge to them, and, he notes, she pronounces Ominis with a silent s.

‘Not that it matters, I’m promised to Umbra now, regardez.’ In front of his face she holds out her left hand, long and elegant, to reveal an ugly, chunky gold band encasing a bulging, roughly cut black gem, looking wildly out of place on her slender fourth finger. Ominis’ clouded eyes skate. She lets out a girlish giggle, covers it lightly with her right hand, her forehead wrinkled with a sneer.

‘I forget. Terribly sorry.’ Her tone is cruelly mocking. She turns her gaze to Sebastian, and he instantly regrets any shred of jealously he harboured moments before. She looks him up and down with obvious disgust, raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

‘This is the little friend my Uncle tells me you traipse after?’ She waves her hand at him, dismissed, as if he were merely a bothersome fly. ‘How disgusting.’

‘Was there something you wanted, other than to mock?’

‘Isn’t that reason enough?’ She drawls, placing a hand on Ominis’ cheek, the ghost of a caress. He flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away.

‘Quel dommage.’ She murmurs, her fingers clasping under his chin, turning his head side to side as her eyes skim over him, ‘You’re quite a dear little thing close up.’ Her forefinger rubs over one of his moles lightly. ‘Très beau.’ Appraisal evidently over she moves her hand to the side of his head, coiling a strand of his hair between her fingers, twirling it slowly.

‘I expect I’ll see you at le mariage. Do try to stay out of trouble, it would be a shame if your father had to mar your pretty face.’ She threads her fingers deeper, this time at his nape, grasping a handful of hair in her fist as he tries to duck out her way. Sebastian hears the sharp intake of breath as Lucilin pulls him close, until her mouth is barely a few inches from his own, so close he must be able to feel her breath on his lips he thinks. 

‘But I would very much enjoy watching it.’ She whispers, her breath gusting in anticipation. Her grip tightens, Ominis’ face pulls taut in a wince. Lucilin looks gleefully over his pained face for a second, before pressing into him with a harsh kiss. Ominis lets out a muffled hum of disapproval, causing Lucilin to let out a manic laugh, a cackle, and pushes her back, his hands on her bare shoulders for the briefest of moments.

She licks her lips, turns, and saunters down the corridor with an airy ‘Au revoir’ without a backward glance. Sebastian watches her figure disappear round a corner out of sight. It takes a few seconds for his thoughts to stop scrambling, to place the name fully. Lucilin. It hits him. Lucilin Black.

‘That’s-’

‘Don’t.’

Sebastian whistles.

[the-right-thyme]

In the Shadow of Family- Chapter 3

https://href.li/?https://archiveofourown.org/works/49807084/chapters/126123052

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Original Characters

Warnings: Mild swear

Relationships: Friendships

Summary: Sebastian is trying to worm his back into Ominis’ good graces. It’s not going well. Until it is.

Chapter Three: Occasus

Sebastian Sallow and I are not talking. 

Well. 

I’m not talking. Sebastian is doing plenty. Incessant talking. Forcing a one sided conversation over even the most trivial of things, all afternoon, as if he can deliberate his way back into my good graces.

I’ve not been able to flex my not talking to him, because Sebastian simply hasn’t let me not get a word in. Just to be contrite, I even took to striking up a conversation with a rather bewildered Amit Thakkar, the poor hapless creature, during our afternoon Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, about the weather of all things, just to prove that I was just not talking with Sebastian, not people in general.

When the lesson finished, I had tried to leave hastily, hoping Sebastian would want to stay behind, as he often likes to do, so he could quiz Professor Hecat about the new spell we’d been practicing, the aquectum charm, that is, granting the caster perfect vision under water, obviously one I’m going to get a lot of use from. But no, no such luck, instead he followed behind me, a constant stream of chatter spilling from his lips as I tried to walk away with obvious purpose, but he wasn’t taking the hint. Or, more likely, ignoring it.

‘-seem to go, I’ve even seem them, just stopping in the middle of the road to stroke every stray cat wandering about in Hogsmede. And where are all the cats suddenly coming from? Because even Everleigh thinks it’s odd, which is saying something, but-’

I twisted, turned 180 degrees on the spot, my outstretched hand at arms length in front of me, I felt Sebastian bump into it, chest resting lightly on my palm. 

‘Excuse me, can I stop you there.’

We stood in blissful silence, finally, for a few seconds.

‘…Yes?’

‘Nothing, I just wanted you to stop there. Take a hint.’ I didn’t wait for a reply, turned and marched off as quickly as my wand allowed for.

Sebastian didn’t follow after that, was probably stood there like a wounded puffskein as I walked away, though the lack of insistent footsteps behind me oddly made my heart sink a little for no decipherable reason. Strange.

My feet subconsciously led me to the Undercroft, as they often do. I hoped Sebastian would give me the common decency to let me sulk in peace in our, my, private spot. As long as Sebastian’s uninvited plus one didn’t barge in, blowing up the candelabras with a confringo they have no right being as proficient in as they are. One day, they’re going to set the whole castle on fire and I’m going to hold Sebastian personally responsible. I know it was him that taught that maniac the spell. 

Once the door grated shut behind me, the breath I had apparently been holding since my outburst at Sebastian came out in a forced rush. I rested my back against the gloriously cold stone and slid down until I hit the floor, my knees tucked under my chin. A touch too theatrical really, even for me.

Thing is, I know I’m being stubborn. Sebastian calls it brooding. But then, Sebastian calls lots of things brooding. Annoyed in potions when our concoction exploded after Sebastian tried to shortcut our thunderbrew to completion with extra leech juice and melted my cauldron? Brooding. Disapproving of him hiding dung bombs in Imelda’s quidditch robes when she had carelessly left them unattended in the Slytherin common room? Brooding. Even that one time in third year I stalwartly refused to try whichever Bertie Bott’s bean it was that was causing Anne to ineffectually stifle her giggles behind me as I was offered it had been deemed ‘brooding’. The bar, it seems, is pretty low.

No, I’m not really angry at Sebastian for following me. Not truly. One isn’t friends with a Sallow  and expect them to toe the line of the socially acceptable friendship codes, uphold chivalry, and respect your wishes. We’re not, thank Merlin, Gryffindors. No, of course they’ll sneak about, pry and poke inquisitive noses into not-their business. 

I’m angry because he knows now, what that heinous spell does and, by extension, what I have done too. I don’t think Sebastian gets quite how dark it all is, but that’s an argument for another day.

Presumably he also watched me writhe around on the floor, in the aftermath, but that bit doesn’t bother me, not any more. Physical violence has always been fathers’ love language. I actually think he held back a bit, going soft in his old age maybe. Either that or he’s worried about his precious legacy. Marvolo and Umbra are yet to produce any heirs, and I think Father is starting to worry he may have to rely on me. Not that I have any intention of such nonsense like that. I’d rather cut off my own arm than subject more tiny Gaunts to the world.

At least Natsai Onai had been graciously herself in our shared Herbology lesson earlier, passing my dragon hide gloves with an airy ‘how about the surprisingly clement October so far.’ I’m fairly certain she didn’t see anything of major importance, only the after-effects, so to speak. I can’t imagine her simply standing by without diving in to save the day if she’d seen anything before. Maybe I got lucky, for once, maybe she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, she is a Gryffindor after all, awfully valiant bunch, but their heads are rather in the clouds. 

Still, I can’t hide out in the Undercroft all afternoon, I’m sure my rebuttal will only hold him back for so long. I’ll camp out in the common room instead, see if I can’t get an unsuspecting first year to procure me a long weight for potions. Ha! Never fails. 

As I leave I know he’s right there, his aura of pure misery clear as day, even to my limited senses. I could let him apologise, grovel for forgiveness in a way he’s far too proud to do normally; but in a sudden surge of pettiness, must be the Gaunt in me after all, I don’t let it slide.

You see, I have the distinct feeling Sebastian thinks me a pushover. And even I can’t deny, I almost always crumble and relent, despite Sebastian’s insistence that I'm the obscenely stubborn one. It’s not a good position to be in. Maybe I should flex my proverbial stubbornness muscle. Without making any indication I know he’s there, I march with intent and- oh blazes, he’s talking again.

This will never do. If I sit in the common room he’s going to talk my ear off.

I change direction, cross the transfiguration courtyard, down the north hall to the bell tower, his voice echoing in the corridors along with the bell sounds which have made a reappearance after our esteemed headmaster had them removed, how nice to hear them again. I consider the library. Madam Scribner won’t stand for Sebastian’s constant chatter in there, will definitely kick him out. But then, I’d have to do something, and I’m far too wound up to concentrate on something as sedentary as homework right now. I turn left instead, out the main door into the circular gardens of the grounds. Hogsmede it is. Surely he’ll get the message now. He knows how much I hate trudging to the village. The guidance spell is second nature to me at this point, I’ve been able to cast it non-verbally since third year, but it’s harder to do outside, he knows this. And Hogsemede is busy, bustling, full of sounds. Exhausting. 

We’re all of five minutes from Hogwarts gate before I realise I’m not wound up at all, I’m exhausted. The kind of fatigue that drains all the ire from you without a moments warning, leaving you weak limbed and weary. I locate a bench, thankfully the path to Hogsmede is paved with them, and sit heavily, cross my arms in what I hope looks like indifference.

Something has sunk in because Sebastian is now silent. If I wasn’t so tired I’d start celebrating, my persistence is finally paying off. 

It doesn’t last long, I hear heavy footsteps approach us. Great.

‘Excuse me boys.’ It’s a man’s voice, gruff around the edges with age, not a student then. And not anyone from the faculty at Hogwarts I recognise.

‘Can I help you?’ Sebastian thankfully takes the lead.

‘I’m looking for someone, a student, a new fifth year?’ A local, if the accent is to be judged correctly.

‘I’ll replace anything they stole’ He says quickly, I wonder if he’s thinking of our mutual friend’s quirky, and quite frankly alarming, garment collection that has boomed in recent weeks. Indeed, if courtyard gossip is to be believed, they had even been spotted clanking around the highlands in a repurposed suit of armour. Mind you, the same courtyard gossip seems to think the fiend currently sat next to me is dashing and charming, which I intimately know to be false. They’ve clearly never heard him snoring like a graphorn even through a silencio spell at 3am.

‘No, nothing like that. I have to ask though, do they…often run around casting revelio every few steps?’

There’s a pause, a shrug if I had to guess by the way it’s followed by, 

‘I suppose so? You get used it.’

‘Odd sort of character aren’t they?’ The man chuckles, almost to himself. ‘Actually, I was hoping to run into them, word has it they have a stash of thestral hair, and I need some for a rather complicated potion I’m trying to brew. Brood and Peck doesn’t have any in currently, Young Miss Peck said their supply mostly came from them anyway. Thought I might as well skip the middle man, well, middle woman I suppose, and go straight to the source.’

I can’t help but frown, where in the worlds are they getting thestral hair from, and, more importantly, when do they have the time? I let Sebastian deal with the man, only half listening as he gives a few suggestion to the possible locations our wily friend could be, which is anywhere really. I nod politely as the man gives his thanks and excuses himself.

‘I didn’t even know there were any thestrals living this far north.’ 

‘Maybe they’re getting it from the stables?’ I muse. It’s not a discussion, I’m merely thinking aloud.

‘Thestral hair doesn’t shed. And I cant imagine Professor Hewin would allow students to take samples.’

‘It’s a Hogwarts mystery.’

I feel Sebastian nudge against my shoulder companionably, let myself be rocked by it.

‘So we’re talking again, then.’ Sebastian sounds painfully hopeful. I sigh.

‘It would seem that way. You are bloody insistent, you know that?’ The cracks in my, albeit weak, resolve are beginning to show.

‘I’m sorry.’ I hear myself say after a beat. It’s too late, I’ve conceded.

‘Me too.’

‘Yes, thank you; but I’m sorry I got rather, irked-’

‘Understatement’ Sebastian huffs under his breath. I deserve some sort of medal for overlooking that particular comment, as if he hasn’t been the melodramatic drip all afternoon.

‘-but I never wanted you, or anybody for that matter, to witness… that. People already think I have the same views as them without a public display.’ It’s purely selfish reasons, really. While I might not be overly proud of the fact, I am a Slytherin after all.

‘Ominis,’ And, Merlin help me, his voice is soft, so full of understanding it makes me glad for my lack of sight, so I don’t have to look at whatever pitying expression is most likely plastered all over his face. ‘No one thinks you’re like them.’ 

Oh Sebastian, my dear Sebastian, so pitifully oblivious.

‘Sebastian, I’m blind, not deaf. I have ears. You might be woefully insensible to idle classroom gossip, but I know what people say about me.’

We fall into silence, the companionable sort, my favourite. So many people try to fill silences with meaningless words. I don’t need constant auditory input to make up for the lack of visual. 

Although it’s ruined, somewhat, by incessant fidgeting. I can hear him minutely shuffling on the bench, crossing and uncrossing his arms with a rustle of his school robes, smacking his lips as though he wants to say something. I’m already a step ahead.

‘Go on then. One.’ I say, careful to make the tone friendly lest I quash our tentative truce. I know Sebastian is painfully desperate to ask questions, has been holding back since the oddly touching tea-by-the-lake gesture at lunch. He hasn’t, out of respect I’d like to think, but probably more likely the knowledge I’ll eventually bend to his will and tell him all. I really do need to work on that. Tomorrow though. Today has been…trying to say the least. I can feel the left-over tension in my limbs from the morning cramping up, I know, from prior experience, they’re going to be sore tomorrow.

‘One question, and then, hand on heart, I promise, schtum.’ 

‘Fine.’

‘The snake within?’

My lips twitch of their own accord. Of course he had to go there.

‘Yes, it’s… the family motto.’ 

‘Sound’s pretty pretentious.’ I can’t help but smile at that comment. He’s certainly not wrong there.

‘In parseltongue, naturally. If it could be anymore melodramatic.’

‘Don’t want anyone to forget the ol’ Salazar pride eh?’

‘Father likes us to say it at every opportunity. Thinks it makes us sound important. Reminds people of the ancestry.’ 

Sebastian snorts, an ungainly noise. Turns thoughtful. 

‘Although you sound pretty badass speaking snake.’

I know I pull a face at that remark. 

‘I most certainly do not.’

‘Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree.’ I can feel his shrug as he says it.

Silence.

‘Want to go back to the castle? I’ll even graciously let you lecture me about stealing school crockery for private use.’

I know an olive branch when I’m offered one, know how to hand one back.

‘Yes, but…’ I put my wand away as we stand, hold my hand out, expectant. ‘Do you mind? I don’t think I’ve the energy to concentrate all the way back right now.’ It’s a half truth, Sebastian would be proud.

Truth is, I’ve not needed to use Sebastian as a guide in a long time, years in fact, once I’d mastered the spell Professor Weasley so kindly spent hours helping me perfect. But my gently guided hand still slips into the crook of his elbow as easily as it ever has, as if it had been no time at all, and, as we start our trudge back to Hogwarts, I know with almost unwavering certainty that all will be fine.

[the-right-thyme]

In the Shadow of Family- Chapter 2

https://href.li/?https://archiveofourown.org/works/49807084/chapters/125930776#workskin

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Player Character 

Warnings: Mild swear

Relationships: Friendships

Summary: Sebastian attempts to cheer up his friend after the dreadful events he most definitely didn’t witness. It goes well. Until it doesn’t.

Chapter Two: Meridies

‘Do you want another cup of tea?’ Sebastian Sallow proffered the delicate willow-patterned teapot to his best friend, steam still gently curling from the spout. Charmed to stay warm, of course.

‘No thank you, twelve’s my limit.’ Came his friends' reply, the merest hint of sarcasm slipping through, as he placed the saucer down next to himself, angle slightly uneven on the ground, the cup perched precariously, its contents reduced to dregs. 

Sebastian wondered if reading Ominis’ tea leaf fortune to him would cheer him up. Probably not. He’d probably end seeing a grim, or worse, extra charms homework in their near future. That wasn’t going to help cheer anyone up, except perhaps Natty.

Sebastian knew he had been overly chirpy all morning, jittery and fidgety, trying his best to act as if he hadn’t witnessed… well, best not to dwell on it. He was trying his hardest to act how he normally did, impromptu tea party by the lake aside. 

He'd had to practically drag Ominis across the castle and grounds, deep from his reverie in their dormitory room when it became apparent he wasn’t going to join him in the Great Hall for lunch. It had seemed to work; with each emptying cup, he had seemed more at peace, more himself. Tea had always seemed to cure Ominis’ many ailments; if only Anne were the same.

Although twelve was an exaggeration, five, if that, at the most. For someone who liked to repeatedly declare how much Sebastian’s embellishment of the truth irked him, he sure was good at doing it himself. Something about a pot and a kettle jumped to his mind.

Sebastian watched as he stretched his arms high above his head, before laying back on the slightly worn, but dry, blanket he had thankfully remembered to bring last minute. From this angle of the lake, all that could be heard was the waters edge gently lapping nearby. It was calming; he could almost imagine falling asleep despite the surprisingly warm midday October sun beating down on them.

‘So? How did it go, this morning?’ Sebastian couldn’t help but ask, hoping Ominis would pick up on his desperate tone and share, so he wouldn’t have to keep the oblivious friend act up all day. It seemed to work, he pitched himself up slightly, leaning back on bent elbows, chin resting heavily on his chest. 

‘It went…well. As well as any sort of meeting with my father can go.’

‘What happened?’

Ominis flopped back, supine again, speaking to the sky. ‘Sebastian, I appreciate your concern, really, but, not right now. Please.’ 

Sebastian watched his friend’s chest slowly rise and fall for a few seconds before hatching a new plan. He stood, hands plucking a rock from the ground, considered it before taking a slight run up and flinging it in a swinging overhead throw that launched the rock in a high arch, to a loud plop in the glittering blue waters, audible even from the shore.

‘Hear that? Nearly reached the other side.’

Ominis let out a snort and a ghost of a smile. Pushed himself up again, until he was sat upright.

‘Saying so doesn’t make it so.’

‘Your turn. Just throw it, give it all you got. Like this.’ Sebastian bent down, picked another from the shore, and with a curdled, exaggerated yell, threw it into the lake with another loud plop.

Sebastian sighed at the motionless figure, and folded a particularly streamlined rock into Ominis’ limp hand.

‘Here, it’s great reliever of stress, I promise; or are you going to sulk all afternoon instead?’

‘I’m going to sulk.’ Came his voice, resolute.

‘Ok well I’m going to throw rocks and scream at the unfairness of life.’

Ominis sniffed, his thumb rubbing over the smooth surface. 

‘So undignified.’ He murmured, almost to himself, failing to hide the quirk of his lips.

‘C’mon, your turn.' Sebastian tugged on Ominis’ shirt cuffs as he stood, suddenly pliant, ushering him forward slightly by a few shuffling steps, until the lake ever so gently lapped at his boots.

With a small huff, he held his arm out and let the rock fall gracefully from his fingertips with a slight underhand motion. It clattered noisily against the rocks directly below, water splashing his socks. Much to his apparent distaste.

‘Sebastian, I’m getting soaked.’

He couldn’t have held his laugh back if he’d been given all the galleons in gringotts.

‘You really are the most dramatic dandy, you know that?’

He was given a sniff in response, watched as he folded his arms, sat firmly back down, cross legged on the grass. Sebastian let out a frustrated cry to the sky.

‘You’re the stubborinst person I know.’

‘No I’m not,’ Ominis’ lips quirked, ‘I’m the most stubborn.’

‘And you’re the annoyingist.’

‘Grammar is just something that happens to other people isn’t it, Sebastian.’ Ominis said with a weary sigh, sounding almost like himself again.

‘Alright Professor Gaunt don’t let your giant head break your neck when you get down off your high horse’

‘Now you’re being facetious.’

‘You sound like my great Aunt Hester.’

‘She sounds like the most sensible, charming member of your family. Please introduce us.’

‘She’s dead.’

Ominis shrugged, ‘Probably still smarter than you.’

‘Don’t think I wont hit you.’

‘Don’t think I wont hit back, I’ve been told I’ve got a mean right hook.’

‘By who?’ Sebastian snorted, ‘unfortunately for you, I can see your arms. I’ve met grindylow with more definition.’ He poked Ominis’ bicep, dodging the swatting hand that followed it. 

‘C’mon, back up.’ Sebastian leant over him, placed his legs either side of Ominis’ knees, pulling his arms taught as he tried to drag him up, leaning back with all his weight. He didn’t budge.

‘How are you suddenly so heavy, there’s nothing of you!’

‘It’s the bulging arms.’

‘Fine!’ Sebastian threw his arms in the air in defeat, collapsing next to Ominis, who at least had the decency to look sheepish. His face turned thoughtful.

‘You’know, I think I’d like to do that.’

Sebastian blinked dumbly, back tracking on their conversation, trying to pick the thread Ominis was following.

‘Boxing?’ He racked his brain further, ‘Horse riding?’

Ominis gave him an annoyed glare, eyes briefly skating over his own.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. No.’ His voice went soft, sad. ‘A professor. I’ve thought about it, quite a lot actually. Maybe, after Hogwarts-’

‘A-a professor?’ Sebastian couldn’t help but splutter. Ominis flushed, clearly mis-interpreting. ‘Stupid childish fantasy I kn-’

‘Ominis.’ Sebastian took his friends shoulders in both hands, forcing his attention. ‘You’d be great at it. Honestly, I’d say you were born for it the way you like bossing me and Anne around.’ He let his hands drop, Ominis’ lips quirking as he attempted to fight the smile that was obviously threatening.

‘Really?’ So hopeful.

‘COMPADRES’ Came a familiar voice, breaking the moment. Sebastian twisted to the direction of the shout. The chipper, upbeat voice of Gryffindors’ golden fifth year, Garreth Weasley and- 

Oh dear, Sebastian thought, his eyes closing with chagrin. Clearly a clothing factory had exploded all over the new student, and they had simply decided to run with it because there was no way someone would choose their current ensemble. Where did someone even find an honest-to-Merlin cape these days?

They sauntered over, Garreth nodding to Sebastian in greeting first before turning to his friend with a friendly ‘Ominis.’ 

He took in their rug, forgotten teacups and still-steaming teapot; raised an eyebrow at Sebastian.

‘What’re you guys up to?’

‘The twelve uses of Horklump juice homework.’ Sebastian said with a flourish of his right hand, licking the nib of an imaginary quill and writing great swirling letters in the air in front of him. Garreth eyed him with amused confusion.

‘You Slytherin lot are an odd bunch, aren’t you. Well, don’t forget number thirteen, makes a delightfully potent additive to firewhisky. Not that I would know, of course.’ He gave Sebastian a conspiratorial wink before pulling his knapsack higher on his shoulder.

‘And you?’ Sebastian motioned to both of them with a sweep of his hand.

‘Billywig stings.’ He gestured with his chin to the bag dangling behind his back, ‘Top secret mission, mind, wish I could tell you more but, Godric’s the word eh?’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Specially if you see my Aunt.’ he gave a quick, shifty-eyed look around, as though a certain head of house was waiting to pounce on them from behind one of the nearby trees. 'She's been extra nosy as of late.'

Sebastian felt himself give a whole body shudder as a sudden whisp of a breeze drifted from over the lake. In his haste to drag Ominis away, he had completely forgotten his school cloak. His shirt wasn’t the warmest, not for October.

‘Sebastian, you must be cold, here,’ Garreth’s partner-in-crime looped the particularly ugly scarf they had decided to don that day round his neck, ‘keep it, I have plenty.’ And indeed, they had already produced a second, somehow more grotesquely patterned scarf, from Merlin-knew-where, winding it around their neck with a flourish. The scarf, now his scarf he thought idly, was made from a sort of murky green velvet material, interwoven with a wool so thick and scratchy, he wasn’t sure if it was actually straw or not, and, worst of all, it had actual tassels. It was over the top, even by wizard standards. Hideous.

‘Uhm, thanks.’ he said weakly, not wanting to offend them by declining, not after everything they had done for him. With a satisfied nod, the two co-conspirators gave their goodbyes and trudged off, their conversation carried off in the wind.

‘Do you think I should lose the scarf?’ Sebastian asked, amused, once they were out of earshot, adjusting it, trying to find the best way to get it to sit just right without its itchy surface digging into the more sensitive parts of his neck, wondering if he could get away with obscure fashion choices the same way his new friend seemed to. Ominis reached out, fingers clasping around the garment, rubbing the material between his fingertips, tracing the swirling pattern. He considered.

‘I think you should burn it,’ Ominis said solemnly, ’Because if you lose it, you mind find it again.’

He playfully slapped the side of his head, scuffing the neatly combed hair.

‘You’re not as innocuous as people think you are, Gaunt.’

‘And you’re not as dashing.’

‘Oh? And you are?’

Ominis shrugged, ‘I have no idea. But I know a fashion disaster when I feel one.’

Sebastian threw the offending item at Ominis’ head, watched him fight a grin, something shifting in his chest. Now or never.

‘You know, when you said it went well? When you said well, did you mean shite?'

‘Something like that.’ Ominis said distantly, sounding far off again, smile fading. ‘Father is most displeased with me not running around hexing muggle-borns, or declaring my blood status, as if it matters, at every opportunity, it would seem.’

‘Your family really are a delight.’

‘What was it my Aunt Noctua used say about familial love and war? One involves a lot of physical and psychological pain, and the other is war.’ Sebastian felt a laugh bubble up, in spite of himself. A companionable silence followed, broken by Ominis clearing his throat.

‘Father wishes me to be married, the year after next.’

‘No. Really? Whoever to?’ Sebastian tried to aim for surprised, but not too much, hoped it didn’t sound as comically punch-and-judy out loud as it did in his head.

‘She’s called Lucilin Black. I’ve met her once before, a few years ago at a sort of-’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust, ‘Pure-blood social gathering. Her mother introduced us,’ he paused, ‘she’s fond of torturing animals.’ He said mildly, as if commenting on her favourite book, or pastry.

‘She sounds like a delight.’

‘Quite.’

Sebastian pushed on. ‘And?’ 

A few beats of questioning silence hung in the air. Sebastian pushed on. He’d get to the main point soon enough if he skirted around it long enough.

‘You’re really going to marry a Black?’

‘I most certainly am not.’ Came the affronted reply, as if even merely suggesting the fact was offensive to him. 

‘But think, the headmaster could be your father-in-law, now there’s a sobering thought.’

‘That’s-’ He blinked blankly in Sebastian direction, ‘That’s not how it works, she’s not his-’ Sebastian ignored him, feeling like he was on a roll, back into the flow of their easy banter.

‘Put in a good word for me, won’t you? I’m going to need all the help I can get if I’m going to pass my Beasts O.W.L this year, Howin has got it in for me I’m sure.’

Ominis sniffed, fiddling with a hem on his robe, in a way he never usually did. ‘I’m just like him.’

‘Who…Professor Black?’ Sebastian asked dumbly, reeling from the sudden change in topic, but knowing they were inching closer.

‘No-my father. I’ve heard people say I’m the spit of him. I think Marvolo hates me for it, he idolises father you know.’

‘Just because you look like him,’ Sebastian paused, ‘-if that is indeed true-’ he added hastily, ‘you, of all people, should know, you’re only like him in all the ways that don’t matter. Besides.’ Sebastian let himself snort unattractively, trying to break the tension. ‘You definitely don’t want to look like the lumbering troll Marvolo does now.’

Sebastian snapped his mouth shut audibly, realised his mistake as the words left his mouth too late.

‘How did you know Marvolo was -?’ Ominis was far too perceptive for his own good.

Sebastian felt himself splutter, ‘I-I saw them heading back, with the Headmaster-’

‘No, no you didn’t. Don’t lie to me. You were there, weren’t you! You saw-’ He let out an extended huff, stood up, started pacing, hands flourishing wildly in the air, too angry for words. 

‘After I explicitly said-’

Not wanting to see the complicated change of expressions on Ominis’ face, Sebastian closed his eyes as the tirade continued.

‘… you know what? I’m not even surprised anymore. You have a remarkable lack of self awareness, Sebastian, into others’ personal-agency.’ His voice sharp.

Something rustled by his side, he peeked, saw Ominis fumbling as he located his wand, refusing to even acknowledge him as he turned and bumped their knees in his haste. Sebastian watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach as he stomped away as quickly as he could, back towards the castle, disappearing round the back of the tree line. 

There was suddenly a noticeable wind, blowing in from across the lake, now more murky that it had appeared only moments before. 

Sebastian shivered.

[the-right-thyme]

In the Shadow of Family- Chapter 1

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49807084/chapters/125727760

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Phineas Nigellus Black, Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, Marvolo Gaunt, Player Character, Original Characters 

Warnings: Torture, family abuse, bad parenting. (personally, I think nothing worse than depicted in the game)

Relationships: None, friendships

Summary: Ominis' family make a surprise visit to Hogwarts. It doesn’t go well.

Chapter One: Eosos

It started as a gloriously ordinary, autumnal morning. Light tumbling in from the infinite ceiling of the Great Hall in perfect beams, falling onto the four long, food-laden tables, slowly filling with students readying themselves for a new day. There was nothing about it to suggest the dark shadow that threatened just around the corner.

The first hint was the headmaster, Professor Phineas Nigellus Black, marching with irritable intent through the Great Hall doors towards the Slytherin table. Sebastian Sallow frowned as he watched their headmaster make a beeline for him, ignoring the hushed, slightly confused, whispers that followed directly in his wake. What had the librarian told on him about now? It had been at least four days since he’d set foot in the restricted section. He screwed his nose up, ok three, technically, if you counted past midnight as-

‘Mr Gaunt, a word, in the courtyard, if you please.’

Sebastian blinked, looked over to his friend sat opposite, mid sip of his usual morning tea, halted by the crisp, over pronounced words uttered to him. Ominis lowered the cup slowly, blinking owlishly in the direction of Professor Black as he did so, his lips pursing into a thin line.

‘Quickly now… you know your father doesn’t approve of being made to wait.’

The cup clattered the last few inches to the saucer, tea slopping over the side, splattering the table. The headmaster hummed, turned, retreating away, the background chatter already starting up again. Sebastian watched as Ominis clenched and relaxed his jaw in quick succession a few times.

‘Don’t follow. I’ll come find you later.’ He said stiffly, his voice lower. He turned and swung his legs gracefully out from under the table, standing as his wand tip illuminated red in the familiar way it always did in guidance. Sebastian chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously as thoughts entered his mind. It would be…unfair? Unethical, maybe, to snoop. To follow, in secret, just to quench his inquisitive nature into the mystery and mystique that was Mr Gaunt. Anne would have. Without a seconds thought. Still would, Sebastian thought bitterly. It was enough to spur him on, wrench him into a standing position, watching as Ominis trudged with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man. Cramming the last square of buttery toast into his mouth, brushing his fingers on the edge of his robes to free the crumbs, he walked as quietly as he could, aware the general noise of the hall would all but render him noiseless.

‘SEBASTIAN’ Came a happy, chirpy call. Sebastian felt his eyes close slowly. He turned, smiling, Poppy Sweeting rising from her seat, waving him over. He glanced over at Ominis’ retreating form, already at the door, pushing it open, sliding out like a will-o-wisp, the door snapping silently shut behind him.

‘I forgot to say, Professor Howin asked me, well sent an owl actually, lovely little spotted owlet it was, to tell you, she’s not angry… per se, but using confringo on the pumpkins in the grounds makes such a mess and-’

‘I’m really sorry Poppy, just, hold that thought a moment, I have to…’ He gave her what he hoped was a winning smile, and not the deranged grimace of a man-on-a-mission. If her replying smile was anything to go by, it was the first.

‘You have butter-’ She motioned to her own nose with a forefinger.

He turned, swiping his face as he collided bodily with the new fifth year, who let out a yelp of surprise. He peered up at them. They were holding their wand aloft, its tip lit brightly with lumos, a moth whirling around it, as it were the most normal thing to be doing first thing on a Thursday morning. 

‘Sebastian, how wonderful to see you.’ He gave them a glancing once over. Today they had donned a simply atrociouspurple-paisley cap and a pair of obscenely quirky newt-eye goggles, obscuring their own eyes from view. At least, he supposed, they were wearing their uniform today, not some fashion disaster throwback from the 1860’s, although it appeared no one had informed them yet that only actual prefects were supposed to wear a prefect’s vest. 

‘I’m looking for some missing gobstones.’ Because of course they were. Why not? ‘If you happen to see any about, do let me know.’ With a flash of their brilliant smile, they turned and sped off without further commentary. It seemed, Sebastian thought fondly, they were incapable of walking anywhere, instead preferring to run, as if even the most mundane of tasks simply couldn’t wait the extra seconds it would take to achieve it at a more respectable pace. Still, they were always graciously amenable to helping a friend out. Sebastian didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth when it came to accepting assistance in finding the cure for Anne. 

Thankfully free of further interruptions he jogged the rest of the hall. The antechamber was empty as he entered, an almost musical tinkling to his left informed him someone, somewhere was busily earning Ravenclaw house points, and before breakfast was even over, the teachers pet. 

He pushed his way into the reception hall, grateful for the unusual lack of anyone milling around except a few hovering ghosts gliding towards the grand staircase, deep in conversation which ended abruptly as they disappeared through the adjacent wall. Casting a deft disillusionment charm as he shimmied through the slightly ajar entrance hall doors, he crept along the edge of the parapets lining the viaduct courtyard. The familiar lilt of the headmasters voice was drifting across the open space, the same self-important voice he used when addressing the student body, rare as it was. Sebastian tiptoed forward, bent double, until all four figures came into view, using a partially blasted fallen column, a victim to a midnight duel no doubt, to remain out of sight. 

The headmaster was leaning casually on one bent elbow against a stack of barrels, a delivery stored in a slightly out of the way nook near the winding stairs that led down to the boathouses, gesturing wildly with his other, as he rambled on, Sebastian only catching the end of the anecdote, something about the minister of magic it seemed. Ominis stood stiffly next to him, wand held limply to his side. The other two, well, Sebastian vaguely remembered his older brother, Marvolo, in his seventh year to their first, mostly avoiding the embarrassment of possibly being seen with his little brother, far too prestigious for anything so familial. He was still slightly shorter than Ominis despite his seniority in age, as broad and stocky as Sebastian remembered, in a rather oafish way that distantly reminded him of the troll he had fought in Hogsmede. His eyes were dark and cruel, set back, making it look like he was perpetually squinting. The other figure was unknown, but instantly apparent.

In all eventualities, and a cruel twist of irony, it looked like Ominis was maturing to resemble his father closely. Mr Gaunt was tall, lean and, if Sebastian looked at it objectively, handsome; in all his pale, angular, coldness. They shared the same mouth, same high cheekbones, same long fingered hands even.

‘To what pleasure do I owe this rendezvous, Father?’ Ominis asked as the headmaster ended his ramblings, a slight nervous edge to his otherwise level tone, one Sebastian could only pick up on account of having spent the best part of four years living with him in close proximity.

‘You are betrothed. We have found a most suitable and agreeable match, her parents have enthusiastically accepted. It is a great honour, after all, to join the legacy that is the House of Gaunt.’

‘Oh.’ Ominis sounded far away, in shock probably. Sebastian certainly was. Betrothed? What a far-fetched concept.

‘Oh indeed, how wonderful, Malus. Anyone I know?’ Phineas clapped his hands together, the question hanging limply in the air. Malus turned with a raised eyebrow, as though questioning why he was still present.

‘Lucilin Black. Your cousin, I believe? Or is it the sister who lives near Toulouse?’

Phineas shrugged nonchalantly. 

‘Same person.’ 

Malus turned back to his youngest son, unfazed.

‘She’s in her final year at Durmstrang, once your winter term is over we will be holding an engagement banquet where you will enter an unbreakable vow with her.’

‘I have no intention of marrying Miss Black,’ Ominis spoke up, slightly desperate, as though only just processing the conversation. ‘I-’

The resounding and unexpected back-handed slap Malus gave Ominis across his cheek sounded like a whip-crack, reverberated off the stone pillars. Sebastian watched his friend stretch his jaw against the offence, his cheek already blooming with mottled colour. Malus grabbed Ominis’ cheeks with one hand, fingers digging in like hippogriff talons, wrenching them up to peer into his son’s clouded eyes, expression twisting into sudden fury, ignoring the fingers ineffectually clawing at the hand clamped to his face.

‘No intention? You say that like you have a choice in the matter. You are a part of this family whether you like it or not, and you will start to act like it, whether you like it or not. I’ve tolerated enough of your rebellious dalliances while at this school, ignored every time you denounce our name and lineage, when you refuse to show your face over the holidays as if we are beneath you. Well, I’ve overlooked them long enough. You will be married the following summer once you come of age.’

Phineas coughed slightly, drawing the attention of the two elder family members as he spoke.

‘Not that it’s any of my business… but, come now, ought young Mr Gaunt here have some sort of…eh…opinion in this? He’s a stellar student, a shining example of pure blood royalty, a bright future ahe-’ His voice petered out under the combined heavy stares of Malus and Marvolo.

‘You are, of course, most correct.’ Malus said harshly, Sebastian felt himself wince as the headmaster eyed Malus cautiously. ‘It is none of your business. Ominis is my son, and he will do as I see fit.’ 

Malus turned his head back, pursed his lips, as if deciding on something, and in a sudden flurry he let go of his son’s face, pulled his wand from seemingly out of nowhere, and pressed the tip gently into Ominis’ cheek.

The air changed palpably, the walls of the courtyard closing in, the shadows darkening,  lengthening despite the rising sun overhead. Marvolo started grunting, no, laughing, cruel and deep, flicking his eyes between his father and brother with obvious excited anticipation. Sebastian felt himself chewing at his lip nervously, wringing his hands in nervous uselessness. He wanted to call out, to warn him, RUN, pointless as it was.

‘Who are you?’ Malus said, low and dangerous into Ominis’ ear.

Ominis mumbled.

‘Who are you?’ 

Sebastian wondered if Ominis could feel the almost deranged look that his father was boring into the side of his face, hopeful he couldn’t. The wand tip pressed deeper.

‘The snake within.’ Came his voice, surprisingly steady.

‘Say it.’ Malus seethed between bared teeth. 

Silence. 

‘So easily you dishonour your legacy. Let me remind you of the consequences.’

Malus pressed his wand harder still, hard enough to force Ominis head back and to the side slightly, baring his pulsing neck. His eyes went wide in surprise, his jaw clenching. Sebastian felt his heart skip a beat, a sense of dread melted like wax down his back, tingling in his toes. Surely someone, anyone, could do something if only they walked by, preferably Professor Weasley or Hecat, hell even Professor Sharp would do.

‘Father-’ Came his voice, small, open and pleading. A begging in one word.

Malus’ voice in reply was hollow, now devoid of emotion, and all the crueller for it.

‘Crucio.’ 

His scream pierced the air, echoes bouncing off the stone walls, sending the hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck to attention. The headmaster’s eyes bulged, almost comically so in any other context, and he took an involuntary step towards Ominis, then back as he eyed Malus fearfully, who was staring at his son with a detached, almost bored look, wand still aloft, red light circling out the tip of his wand, twisting its tendrils around Ominis like flames. His spine curled, wand clattering away uselessly as his fingers spasmed and scrabbled on thin air, trying and failing to find purchase, body convulsing. He fell to his knees, heavily with a dull thud, now letting out a series of almost inhuman whines.

The spell stopped almost as abruptly as it had started. 

Ominis pitched forward, barely holding himself up on visibly shaking hands and knees, chest heaving as he panted like a workhorse, head held limply between tensed shoulders, hair flopping with gravity, obscuring his features.

Marvolo was laughing again, manically. Sebastian closed his damp eyes, feeling bile rise in his throat. He had heard Ominis talking about that spell with unbidden revulsion. It was quite different witnessing it.

‘Say it.’ Came Malus’ insistent voice again. Even Sebastian could hear the unsaid threat just below its surface.

Ominis canted his head up, slowly, his breathing mere shaky rasps. His nostrils flared desperately, in annoyance, disgust, a look of pure hatred etched in his normally smooth features that Sebastian had never seen before, hoped he never would again. 

He cleared his throat slightly.

A series of strange hisses came from Ominis’ mouth, and Sebastian almost gave himself away, only managing to hold back on an audible gasp of Merlin’s big bushy beard at the last minute when he realised what his best friend was doing. 

Parseltongue.  

He knew, abstractly, how could he not, that Ominis, the Gaunt family, were Slytherin in all the ways that mattered, but hearing it. Well. He was going to have to persuade Ominis to do it again one day. Obviously many, many days after today had long been forgotten, but maybe, if he got him in a good enough mood, or get Anne to persuade him. That girl had somehow managed to wrap him round her little finger since their first day. She was good at it, winning people over, he thought with a sad smile. Always had been.

‘You scream like a muggle.’ Came his father’s disgusted voice.

‘I say-’ The headmaster’s voice was strained, barely more than a whisper, jaw snapped shut with an audible click as Malus focused his full glare round to Phineas. He visibly cowered, licked his lips and took a step back, letting out an odd, slightly high pitched chuckle that Sebastian couldn’t fathom. Malus took a step over his quivering son’s form and without a glance back strode off across the courtyard, back towards the entrance hall, Marvolo in his wake. Phineas crouched, reached out tentatively as though to touch Ominis, paused, his expression unreadable, before standing back up. He smoothed his waistcoat and cleared his throat awkwardly.

‘Come now Mr Gaunt… back to your common room, tidy yourself up while I show your father out, let’s not make a scene eh?’ He bit his bottom lip for a second, before jogging after the two departing figures until he caught up, his false cheery voice carrying as they disappeared out of sight. Now, finally, the comforting background noise of the castle suddenly come back into focus, a flock of birds chirping overhead, the wind blustering through leaves somewhere in the distance joining the sound of Ominis’ jittery breathing. Sebastian stood up silently from his hiding place, his face blank. He opened his mouth to speak, to comfort, to call out something re-assuring; when Ominis let out a single, wracked sob. It cut through him as easily as the screaming had, rendering him silent.

He watched, still frozen to the spot, as though someone had cast a particular stubborn glacius, eyes tracking his friend as he shifted himself slightly, shuffling on weak hands, pushing himself to a kneeling position, reaching blindly out in front of himself, patting the stone floor, his fingers splayed wide.

‘A-accio!' came his voice, wobbly and whispery. Nothing. He inhaled deeply, exhaled shakily and tried again, his voice only minutely stronger. Still nothing. 

The doors behind them burst open, Sebastian suddenly startled to movement, ducked back behind the broken partition, momentarily forgetting he was still disillusioned, to see a group of loud, bustling students stroll through, clearing the air of its remaining darkness with their bright laughter. Ominis was a statue, a frown line forming between his eyebrows, obviously hoping to go unnoticed. The crowd were deep in chatter, merely passing through to the bridge, when one of the Gryffindors seemed to notice Ominis’ still form kneeling on the floor, almost-but-not-quite out of view. She murmured something in the blonde-haired Ravenclaw student’s ear who she was looped arm-in-arm with before peeling away from the group, half dragging her friend with her across the courtyard.

‘Ominis!’ Natsai Onai’s voice was bright, happy, a night-and-day contrast to the previous voice who had spoken his name.

His head flicked up in her general direction briefly, gaze aimed too low, before looking away to the side. Her face fell.

‘What happened? You look-’

‘I’m fine.’ He snapped. His voice strained. Her friend tutted and rolled her eyes, unlinking their arms with a shrug.

‘Come on Natty, we’re going to be late for Arithmancy, as if he has anything nice to say to anyone who isn’t a pure-blooded Slytherin.’ She marched off without waiting for a reply. Natsai cast a sad look over Ominis, in an understanding, that thankfully went unseen by him, Sebastian thought, knowing how much he hated undue fuss and furore.

He supposed she was taking in the same things he knew to be jarring to Ominis’ usual prim and proper presentation; the uncharacteristically mussed hair, his fringe plastered slick to his forehead with sweat, the red flush that was creeping across his face, darkening with every second. Sebastian wondered idly if Ominis was aware that embarrassment showed up so visibly on his face, giving his true emotion away. His limbs were still minutely shaking, chin now resting on his chest, his gaze somewhere on her feet, unseeing as ever. Perhaps the most damming were the drying tear tracks, unmistakably so in the misty morning light.

‘Ah, here it is, your wand,’ She reached to pick it from its resting place, guiding the handle to his expectant fingers. If they were clammy and trembling still, she made no reaction she’d noticed.

‘See you in Herbology later. I hear we’re covering glomping mud-flowers today, should be interesting.’ The tense lines of her face spoke of pity, but her voice was the same light, airy tone she’d used in greeting, almost soothing. She gave him a genuine warm smile, and loped off after the gang of students nearly out of sight.

Ominis let out an audible, resigned sigh as he flicked his wand, wordlessly casting whatever spell it was that allowed him to navigate his surroundings. His free hand pushed heavily on his left knee, grunting gracelessly as he stood himself up, slightly bent over, a curled fist pressing into his abdomen as he grimaced. His robes, normally pressed to an inch of perfection, were dusty with creases, the knees of his breeches smeared brown with mud, outlines of the cobbles imprinted on his stockings, his boots scuffed at the toes. It was a sobering sight. With a few steadying deep breaths, and a minute shake of his shoulders, he made his way in the opposite direction, back towards the castle.

Sebastian remained, staring at the spot Ominis had been standing long after his marginally uneven footsteps had retreated away.

Regret.

It was a new feeling.