new ‘of mercy and malice’ chapters in coming (finally free from my thesis hehehehe)
One Nice Bug Per Day
AnasAbdin

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Andulka
Mike Driver
RMH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

shark vs the universe

Kaledo Art
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Not today Justin
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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Discoholic 🪩
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art blog(derogatory)

Product Placement
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@cafechichay
new ‘of mercy and malice’ chapters in coming (finally free from my thesis hehehehe)
good afternoon, little people in my phone.
When I was little, fandom spaces were everything to me. I consumed fanfiction, and the interactions between authors and readers were something I coveted at that rather lonely age. I had no idea just how deep fandom culture went, having only joined social media in my later teen years and actually getting a Tumblr account during COVID. I was an A-grade lurker, and never imagined I'd ever be one of the voices interacting with fandom, least of all making friends.
In my short stint actually putting my work out there, I've made so many incredible friends and been exposed to so many life experiences, stories, and cultures. The one unifying thing is how deeply kind everyone has been.
So, I've been wanting to make this post for a while. My favorite people, artists, writers, and new faces that keep the fandom going.
I am honored that there is a lot of overlap between incredible fic writers and friends of mine, so I'll focus on their writing. If I start talking about their qualities, this will be a much longer post.
Authors who are new/ I don't see hyped enough, who write absolute underrated bangers: @rambling-tam, @anominym @ravenwind-75 @elisalsaa @seb-in-the-shadows, @rosewoodcafe @amethystandemma, @fanfiction-she-wrote @spookybriecheese @sharlotscarletfox, @rypnami, @libellule-ao3 @butternutt613 (MY BELOVEDDD), Bree (who wrote Kindred, Legacy, and Yearning) and this one writer on tumblr who wrote an absolutely FIRE fic of Ominis, MC, and Sebastian in the scriptorium. I remember commenting on their fic and asking to be put on a taglist BUT I CAN'T FIND IT RAHHH (EDIT: IT'S @cafechichay !!!) I am going to keep adding to this list, trust. Also @shyamanuensis of COURSE <3
Fandom fav fic writers that I will never stop yelling about: @sallowskeeper @galaxiasgreen @lyworth, @myokk (also a wonderful artist)
Incredible Artists: @okeydokeylackey @heylorrain (who also writes absolutely gut-wrenching, beautiful fics- including her under art because her comms are open), @syrooo @stein0806, @eggzeroni, @speedysart (who also has a wonderful MC) @tabatadraft, @tamayula-hl, @kleinundscharf, @sebentinuminis, @chainsawg
Screenies: @smilenewfifthyear
And very special shoutout to people who engage with fics even if you don't write yourself. Every like, comment, and reblog means a lot to me, and I love ya'll. ( @frogunderthesink I see you liking my posts heheheh ily and @all-4-ominis as well! Also, @mrsluffy07 hand over ur masterlist pls)
Anyway. A lot of the people here I have the special honor of calling friends, and I wanted you all to know how much you guys mean to me. And, I'm always open to making new friends and yapping about anything under the sun tbh. This fandom is lovely, and I didn't realize what a beautiful space I entered when I started engaging with it.
oh goodness you’re actually adorable 😭
thank you so so much bab! best believe i’m continuing it just for you—once i get these final year essays and dissertation 💔 stuff out the way.
BUT ITS COMING.
thank you so much again honestly, this put such a massive smile on my face ❤️
My favorite concept for fanfic that spawned from character AI (I’m sorry I don’t have a screen cap because my phone and my iPad aren’t synced because I have way too many photos) is when you mention Harry Potter to Mattheo he becomes incensed with jealousy.
Like he literately called him a “Golden Boy” and a “Gryffindork.”
I wanna write this (BUT ONCE AGAIN MY STUPID ESSAY PERIOD IS KILLING ME) bc Jealous!Mattheo is honestly the only thing fueling my serotonin rn
Sebastian did not learn the lesson🥲
This just got my writer senses tingling (i can’t write now bc of THIS STUPID ESSAY PERIOD BUT)
Honestly this could be either humour/crackfic or like the most TERRIFYING thing.
(whatever happened, Seb probs deserved it)
((Ominis is tired of his shit))
pls let me just write about my slytherin boys, not how CDKs keep my cells happy and healthy i bEG </3
Female characters who are the sole voice of reason <<<<<<< Female characters who think of themselves as the sole voice of reason but who are actually just as insane as those around them
Paris, Texas
Pairing - Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader
Word Count - 19534 [2 to 3 hours of reading time - depending]
Content Warning - Slow burn Angst, Unrequited love, Pining!Reader, Being taken for granted, google-translated italian and french (i am an asian woman, i don’t know a lick of french)
Summary - Loving someone they way you want to be loved, doesn't always mean you will be loved the same way back
A.N. - Writing this whenever I got the chance (which also the same days that I don't speak a word of English). Thanks to ChatGPT for making this readable. Also dividers by @firefly-graphics <3
Poll Results: Literally everyone said to post this "now" (as in 4 days ago "now") but I ended up working 38 hours at my part-time since then so I apologise. Also this was also redrafted about 7 times because I wanted a realistic ending.
Enjoy! <3 (commenting and reblogging feeds the writing gremlin)
Wizards slowly began adopting Muggle holidays sometime around the 18th century. Those living in London found themselves enjoying each little tradition, each celebration the Muggles offered.
Valentine’s Day was one of the latest fads in the British-wizarding forums. Some had said a big-time French socialite had apparently introduced the tradition to his British amour, and since then, the excitement spread through the grapevine. From gifting beautiful, forever-blooming flowers to your beloved, to others frantically checking their Chocolate Frogs were not spiked with Amortentia — young wizards started basking in the celebration of young love (or platonic love for some).
Everyone, except you.
Classmates, dorm mates, and even your own best friends — Joycelin Sweeting and Astoria Greengrass — were ecstatic over the festivities. They had dragged you each weekend leading up to the big day to Hogsmeade and even trekked up to Diagon Alley for the perfect presents for their other halves. You were happy for them.
Truly.
They both had that beautiful twinkle in their eyes — and even though they were the most bubbly, fun-loving duo, you were almost 100% sure that their pupils turned into literal love hearts around their respective partners. Their hair was always curly or wavy (you had read in some book in the library that the magic surrounding a girl in love made their hair wavy for some reason), and their cheeks ached and flushed red with blush. You promised you were happy for them.
You had promised you were fine, telling Astoria to go on her date and reassuring Joycelin that you had more than enough on your plate. (That was a lie.)
The sun had barely risen but the time you sat in the Great Hall, the low chatter of students around you creating a hum that felt more distant than comforting. The flickering candles overhead cast shadows that danced lazily across the table, but you could not focus on the warmth. You felt the coldness inside you, a familiar emptiness that had settled in your chest ever since things had started to change. You could not help feeling sorry for yourself. Sitting here, on the morning of Valentine’s Day, seemingly the only student sitting alone. The dining hall was already quiet as it was, with many students opting for more romantic settings.
Your eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, your gaze inevitably falling on Theodore. He was there, of course, just like he always was, wrapped up in the world he had created around himself. The world that no longer seemed to have much space for you.
You could feel the ache settle into your bones, a quiet reminder of everything that had gone wrong—or seemingly, what seem to have disappeared over the winter break. It was not that he did not notice you; it was that he seemed to look through you these days. Every time you tried to get close, tried to bridge the growing chasm between the two of you, he had backed away, like you were not worth the effort.
And that was it. You were not worth the effort.
Theodore’s eyes did not meet yours now, and you were not sure if it was out of avoidance or simple disinterest. He had the same nonchalant air about him, speaking to the people around him in a tone that was not sharp, but cold enough to make you feel it in your gut. His friends, his fellow Slytherins, hung on the few words he said, laughing and teasing with ease. They did not know the quiet pain you felt just from being in the same room with him.
You turned your attention back to your plate, pushing food around without really touching it. The silence between you and him had become more deafening with each passing day. You tried to ignore it, to accept that it was what it was, but that did not stop the small part of you, the part that still hoped, from holding on.
A sharp pang of disappointment twisted in your chest as you watched a few girls from the other end of the table approach Theodore. Their laughter rang in the air, a sound that was light and carefree, like the weight of everything was irrelevant. You knew how they looked at him. You had seen it before. He was everything they admired—charming in a nonchalant type of way, and, for every reason you had been drawn to him in the first place, they couldn’t get enough of him.
A wave of frustration washed over you. You wanted to get up, leave this place where you felt so invisible, but the more you tried to retreat into yourself, the more desperate you were for Theodore to reach out for you.
But just as you were about to turn back to your breakfast, a voice broke through the quiet hum of the hall, this one different — more polite and genuinely warm.
Theodore was halfway through taking a bite of his toast when a voice rang out, light and sweet, carrying through the quiet of the hall, uninvited and unwelcome. “Theo, you are coming to the party tonight, aren’t you?”
The girl who spoke was one of those faces you often saw in the Slytherin corridor but never paid much attention to. A pleasant sort of girl, pretty enough, but always with a crowd. She had the kind of attention that came effortlessly, like a polished stone that had been smoothed by years of admiration. Her soft blonde curls bounced around her face as she leaned toward Theodore, her eyes wide with the warmth of something unfamiliar to you, something that felt a little too bright, too alive.
Her voice, though melodic, carried a subtle undertone of expectation. “It’s going to be fun,” she added with a smile, drawing the words out as though she was fishing for an answer. She did not care about the casualness of the conversation; she knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers brushed lightly against Theodore’s sleeve as she spoke, and you could almost see the way her confidence bloomed in the space between them, wrapping around him as if they were already connected.
Theodore looked up slowly, his gaze flicking toward her, but the moment his eyes met hers, he seemed to settle into a practiced nonchalance. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was not the kind that reached his eyes. He gave a slight nod, still not meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he replied, his voice cool and flat, the same as it always was these days. Detached.
The girl beamed, as if the words were all she had wanted, but before she turned to go, she finally, almost reluctantly, glanced your way. Her eyes lingered on you for the briefest moment, as if she just remembered you were there, as if you had somehow faded into the background of the conversation she had been having with Theodore. It was not an unkind look, just distant — as though acknowledging your presence now was an afterthought.
“Oh,” she said, the pitch of her voice softening just a touch. “What about...” She slowly turned her head to your table. Her smile was kind, but it lacked warmth, like a perfunctory gesture more than a genuine inquiry.
You blinked, suddenly aware of the space between you and Theodore. The hall became so much larger than you had imagined, yet feeling narrower and overwhelming at the same time. You wanted him to say yes—better yet, walk down that endless hall to ask for your opinion. But you were also terrified. You did not want to admit that the very thought of being around people, of pretending to be something you were not, made your chest tighten. At this point, there was no telling what kind of relationship existed between you both. Your thoughts were swarming you these past couple of weeks— with one that had been quietly overcoming your mind for weeks, months now. You wanted to be seen— wanted to be wanted, even if just for a fleeting moment.
But before you could speak, Theodore’s voice cut through the tension, his words sharper than usual. “You know her,” he said, his tone distant and dismissive, “she’s not really a party person.”
And just like that, the words sank into your skin, prickling with discomfort. It was not a lie, not exactly, but it felt wrong. There was a bitter edge to it, something unspoken that settled over the dining hall like a growing storm. You were not a party person, no. But that was not the real reason you’d rather stay away. The truth was more complicated, more suffocating, and Theodore was too busy with his own distractions to notice.
The girl smiled again, this time with a hint of pity that stung more than it comforted. “I see,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, almost apologetic, but you could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips. “I mean, no matter- we can always have fun for her. Right?”
She turned on her heel, slipping into the crowd of students with ease, leaving you in the quiet bubble of awkwardness that you had somehow found yourself in. The weight of his dismissal hung heavy in the air, suffocating you, even though he was not looking at you. His focus had already shifted to his friends, already lost in the rhythm of the day, and you felt the distance between you grow even wider.
You could not help but glance at him again, watching him talk to the group of Slytherins across the table, his face set in a way that looked practiced, familiar. His eyes never once flickered toward you. The indifference stung more than anything. He had done this before, turned his attention elsewhere, as if you were no longer worth the effort.
There was a knot in your stomach, tight and unyielding. It was hard to breathe around it, but you did not dare let it show. You did not dare let anyone see how much it hurt.
You knew better than to try and get his attention, though. You had learned long ago that when Theodore was not looking at you, nothing you did would change it. So you turned your gaze back to your untouched plate, pushing the remaining food around as if it could give you something to focus on, something to fill the hollow space.
The longer you sat there, the heavier the weight in your chest became — suffocating, relentless. The pitying look from that girl lingered in your mind, curling uncomfortably around your thoughts. It was not just the way she’d glanced at you like an afterthought — it was how right Theodore’s words had felt, how easily they’d seemed to confirm something you’d been trying to ignore for weeks.
You are not really a party person.
The words repeated in your head, twisting and distorting until they felt less like a passing comment and more like some unspoken truth — one you could not shake. It was not just that you did not belong at parties. It felt like you did not belong anywhere. Not with your friends, who had drifted into their own little worlds of whispered conversations and excited plans. Not with Theodore, who barely looked at you anymore — and if he did, it was only to find some way to push you further away.
And it was your own fault, was it not?
Your friends had tried — really tried — to keep you close. Joycelin and Astoria had spent weeks begging you to come with them — to Hogsmeade, to the common room, even just to sit with them in the Great Hall. They had coaxed you with warm smiles and reassurances that you’d have fun, but you never did. You could never quite shake the feeling that you were just… there. A shadow lingering behind them, dulling the brightness of their excitement.
It had reached the point where you almost felt guilty for saying yes — because each time you did, you could see it in their eyes. That flicker of hesitation, that subtle change in the air when you sat beside them. As though they were quietly waiting for you to dampen the mood.
You knew they loved you — you knew that. But sometimes love was not enough to stop you from feeling like a burden.
You wondered when it had happened — when you had become this person. The one who sat quietly at the edge of things, watching her friends smile and laugh from somewhere she could no longer reach. The one who had once been so full of warmth, now cold and withdrawn, retreating deeper into herself with each passing day.
It was not that you did not want to fight for what you once had — for Theodore, for your friends, for yourself. It was that you did not know how.
Because the truth was, you were tired — tired of trying to pretend that you were fine, tired of convincing yourself that this hollow feeling was not swallowing you whole. And most of all, you were tired of caring so much when it felt like no one seemed to care about you.
A dull ache settled behind your eyes, and you swallowed hard, blinking quickly to push the feeling down. You did not have the energy to fall apart — not here, not now. Instead, you kept your head low, eyes fixed on your plate as you tried to shrink into the silence, as if that might somehow make everything hurt a little less.
Just as you were about to sink back into your own thoughts, another voice broke through the fog of disappointment. The sudden shift in tone was enough to catch you off guard.
“Excuse me, are you… Y/N, right?”
The voice pulls you from your thoughts. You blink, not expecting to hear anyone speaking to you. When you look up, you are met with a pair of eyes. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, seem to gleam with an unexpected warmth. He stands there, leaning casually against the bench, his posture effortlessly confident. His dark hair, not quite as dark as Theodore’s but with a similar tousled quality, seems to catch the light in all the right places, and you can tell it’s the sort of hair that naturally falls into place, no matter what.
Adrien Delacroix.
His features are distinctively sharp, but there is a softness to them, too. He has a smile that feels almost practiced, easy, as if it is a shield he is worn a thousand times. His bone structure is different from Theodore’s—more delicate, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that seems to be chiseled perfectly. He’s stood there, looking down at you with an easy smile that barely hides his curiosity. He is tall—definitely taller than most guys in your year—and his gaze is steady, almost like he’s trying to read you.
The thought hits you immediately, almost involuntarily. What does he want?
You manage a quiet nod. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”
You blink again, not sure what to say next, but Adrien doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation. You hate how small your voice sounds, especially compared to Adrien’s friendly tone. You immediately wish you could say something more—something to make this interaction feel less awkward, but your words feel like they’re stuck somewhere deep in your chest.
“I thought I… ah…” He pauses briefly, brow creasing as he searches for the right word. “Reconnu — recognised you,” he corrects himself, his accent curling softly around the syllables. He leans casually against the table, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m in a couple of your classes, and I’ve seen you around… but I’ve never had the chance to actually talk to you.”
He pauses for a moment, his hand lifting to push a strand of dark hair behind his ear with the same effortless grace that seems to define him. The way his accent lingers, slightly melodic and smooth as it dances in his words, makes you feel different. There’s something about him that feels different, refined—but not in an obvious, boastful way. Just in the way he holds himself, the subtle lift of his chin, the quiet confidence that lingers even in the simplest gestures.
“History of Magic, right?” Adrien asks, as if pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ve been in my class the last few weeks… I think I sit behind you.”
Your heart beats a little faster, and a flush creeps up your neck. Adrien notices, a quick flash of amusement crossing his face, but he does not make a big deal out of it.
You force a smile, nervous and unsure. “I dunno… I sleep through most of it.”
His lips twitch as he laughs softly, his voice rich, and the sound catches you off guard. “Vraiment? Really?” he says, his grin widening. “You should definitely stay awake. It’s fascinating stuff.” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more in his eyes — something that almost makes you wonder if he’s being sincere.
“I—I’ll try,” you murmur, pulling your sleeves down further, hiding your hands in the folds of your robes. You are not used to this, not used to being noticed like this. Especially not by someone like Adrien, who seems to draw people’s attention without even trying.
You cannot help but notice the way his eyes linger on you for just a moment too long before he blinks and looks away. It’s a small thing, but it sends your heart racing, and you cannot figure out why.
He leans in slightly, his voice lowering a little. “You’ve got that quiet thing going on… makes you seem a bit… mystérieuse.” His lips twitch with a small smile. “It’s cute.”
The words hit you like a shockwave. Cute. The simplicity of it, the way it feels like a compliment that doesn’t carry any weight behind it, makes your chest tighten. It’s not an insult, but something about it makes you feel exposed, like you don’t deserve the attention he’s giving you. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who could be “cute,” not the way the other girls are. You’ve spent so long hiding in the shadows, and now someone like Adrien is standing in front of you, treating you like you are someone worth noticing.
You do not know how to respond, so you just nod, suddenly feeling even more awkward. You can’t help it, your mind races with the thought that maybe he’s just being polite. Or maybe he’s just like the others who like to talk to you out of some weird obligation before moving on to something—or someone—else.
Adrien tilts his head, and for a moment, you are not sure if he’s trying to figure you out or if he’s just watching you. His lips twitch into a smile again, this time a little more knowing. “Well, if you ever need someone to keep you awake in History of Magic, I’m happy to help.”
You try not to smile, but the way his gaze lingers on you, the way he speaks, it’s hard not to. He seems genuine, yet you wonder how much of that is just the way he is—easy, charming, and unbothered.
“Or maybe we could catch up on what you’ve missed in the library?” He smiles, “I noticed you usually run off there as soon as Binns finishes.”
You shift slightly, the discomfort rising in your stomach. “I don’t usually spend much time in the library,” you say, almost apologetically, though you know it’s not entirely true. You’ve been there often, especially in the past few weeks, lingering in corners, trying to lose yourself in the quiet. You’ve seen Adrien there before, too, always focused, always absorbed in his reading. But you don’t mention that. It feels too intimate somehow, like acknowledging his presence would make this interaction even more real.
Adrien’s eyes soften as if he can see through your discomfort. He doesn’t push, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s actually paying attention to you—or just looking for something to fill the silence. He shifts, stepping a little closer, the air between you thick with something unspoken.
“I get that,” he says, his smile growing a little more genuine. “Hogwarts can be… eh… accablant… too much, no?” He chuckles softly. “I’ve only been here a little while, and I’m still figuring out where everything is.” His words are easy, his tone casual, like he’s trying to make you feel less out of place. You can tell he’s trying to make this conversation feel natural, but you can’t help but feel like you are failing at being natural, like every word that leaves your mouth is a stilted attempt to keep up.
You want to say something, to let him in, but the words feel wrong. Why is he even talking to me? You want to scream it, want to ask him why someone like him—who clearly fits in with all the bright, shiny faces at Hogwarts—would want to talk to someone like you. You are used to being on the outside, used to standing in the back while others take the spotlight. And here is Adrien, offering you a sliver of attention like it’s no big deal. You don’t know what to make of it.
But then he continues, his voice slipping back into that light, teasing tone. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, actually. I just didn’t know how to approach you though—thought it might be best find away to do it differently…”
You freeze, caught off guard by the statement. Differently? It feels like a compliment, but it also feels like a judgment. You never meant to be unreachable. Is he saying I’m weird? You can’t stop the flash of insecurity that rises in your chest. You are not sure whether to thank him for the words or shrink away in embarrassment. You barely know him, yet somehow, his words feel like they’ve carved into you in ways you are not ready for.
“Hey — I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Adrien adds, as though sensing the shift in the air. “I just thought… maybe we could hang out sometime? I mean, I’ve seen you around, and you don’t seem like the type to just…” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly as he mutters, “Comment on dit… ah…” His fingers drum lightly on the table as he thinks. “Go with the flow?,” he finishes, a little unsure but still smiling. “You seem… hmm… like someone who thinks for herself. I thought it’d be nice to get to know you.”
The offer feels too big, too much for someone like you to take in, like a question you are not sure you are allowed to answer. You want to say no, to tell him it’s fine and you are used to being alone, but there’s a small part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s being honest.
Before you can figure out what to say, Adrien’s smile softens, and he steps back, giving you a little more space. “I’ll see you around then?” His voice is lighter, not pushing, but still there, lingering.
You sit there, watching him walk away, still unsure whether his invitation was just a formality, something said to pass the time, or if he genuinely meant it. You don’t know. You don’t know him, not really, but the thought of being wanted, of being seen by someone like him, leaves you feeling both lighter and heavier all at once.
You can’t shake the comparison in your mind—the way Theodore’s presence always felt heavy, like there was something between you that you could not name. But with Adrien, it’s different. He’s easy. He doesn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen, like Theodore did. And yet, you feel unsettled, unsure if you should let yourself enjoy this attention.
But why would someone like him be interested in someone like me? You can’t shake the doubt, the feeling that this is all too good to be true.
The first few days after Adrien introduced himself passed with little fanfare. You found yourself thinking back to his words, but they felt like little more than a fleeting moment in the midst of your usual routine. School was still a whirlwind—lessons, assignments, and the ever-present hum of your friends dragging you along, their chatter and laughter filling up the corners of your days. You barely had time to notice the absence of anything new.
It was only in the quieter moments, when you found yourself alone with your thoughts, that Adrien’s voice would drift back into your mind. “It was nice talking to you.”
You weren’t sure why it lingered. He’d said it casually, a throwaway comment as if it was no different from any other greeting. But it was different. You weren’t used to being treated like that. It was a small thing, but in a life that had felt so filled with noise and obligation, it felt like a small light. Yet you pushed it aside. You didn’t know him. He was a stranger, no matter how pleasant.
Days passed, and you carried on as usual. You caught glimpses of him in the halls occasionally, but he never approached you again. You hadn’t expected him to, really. And you didn’t know what you would have done if he had.
But then, a few days later, you were walking down the corridor on your way to the library, a pile of books pressed tightly against your chest. You had your mind on your homework and what you had left to do that afternoon.
As you passed a corner near the library’s entrance, you nearly collided with someone. You glanced up, startled, and there he was—Adrien, his warm eyes locking onto yours as though he’d been expecting to see you. He stepped back just in time, allowing you to continue walking.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Hi,” you answered, a little caught off guard, though you couldn’t quite place why. His smile was warm, genuine, and it did something strange to your heart—a soft flutter that you quickly buried under a sense of confusion. Why did it feel different when he smiled at you?
“I was actually heading to the library, too,” Adrien continued, his words stumbling slightly before he found the right phrasing. “I… uh… if you, uh, don’t mind, maybe I could… walk with you?”
His words came out with a slight hesitation, but his smile remained steady. You caught a soft ‘D’accord’ under his breath, as if he had been about to say something before stopping himself.
You didn’t answer immediately, unsure why it felt so difficult. But then you just shrugged. What harm could it do? It wasn’t like you had to say yes, but his offer felt casual enough—so you nodded.
“Sure, why not.”
The walk wasn’t long. You had a few moments of awkward silence, your footsteps echoing slightly in the hallway. But Adrien didn’t seem bothered by it. He didn’t try to fill the silence with pointless chatter, as some people would. He just walked beside you, the occasional glance in your direction almost like an invitation to speak, but never pushing for it.
When you arrived at the library, you felt an odd sense of… expectation. But why? You weren’t sure, and you couldn’t figure it out. He hadn’t even asked to sit with you. And yet, when you found a quiet corner, Adrien dropped down across from you with a casual air, pulling out a few books from his bag. You didn’t speak much at first, but the way he settled next to you, not intruding on your space but in a way that made you aware of him, was somehow comforting.
You focused on your work, but there were moments when you found yourself glancing up at him. His eyes were always so soft, always paying attention to the books in front of him, but you could tell that sometimes he looked at you, too. It was subtle, but it was there. He was careful, though, and never pressed you. You never felt like you were being watched. But there was something there, something unspoken.
It wasn’t like you’d thought anything would happen, but somehow, you felt a little lighter in the moments you shared with him, even if they were silent. You told yourself it was just the solitude of the library making it feel that way, nothing more.
The next few days followed a similar rhythm. Adrien continued to show up, not in an overwhelming way, but in the way of someone who was content with simply sharing space. You’d find him walking beside you in the halls, or—more often than not—he’d be sitting across from you in the library, quietly reading. Some days, he’d nod in your direction, offering a small, knowing smile. Other times, he would remain absorbed in his books, but you’d catch a glance his way, and his eyes would flicker toward yours before he quickly returned to what he was doing.
You still didn’t know how to feel about it. You weren’t used to the attention. It wasn’t anything grand or demanding, and maybe that’s why it unsettled you. Maybe it felt too easy. And maybe that was why you kept waiting for the moment it would end—waiting for the point where you’d both go your separate ways, like you always had before.
But that moment didn’t come.
A week passed, then two. Adrien didn’t disappear, but his presence began to feel familiar. Not in a bad way, but in the way that something small can slowly start to settle into your life without you quite realising it. You found yourself moving through your days in that strange mix of normalcy and anticipation.
By the third week, he’d started sitting next to you before you even had a chance to settle in. No longer waiting for an invitation, he simply dropped down next to you, book in hand. The quiet exchanges—small smiles, the soft rustle of pages turning—began to feel almost like a routine. Not something you had to think about.
And then, one day, he spoke up as you were gathering your things.
“I was thinking of going outside to study today,” Adrien said, looking at you as if the question were almost an afterthought. “Would you like to join me? The grounds look quieter with it being a little colder, no?”
You blinked, a little thrown off by the suggestion. You’d never thought of studying outdoors, especially when it was getting colder, but you couldn’t help but feel the soft pull of the invitation. There was something about the way he asked—it wasn’t pressure. It wasn’t forceful. It was simply an offer, the kind of offer you didn’t often get. No one had ever asked you to just be there, to sit in the open air and study without some ulterior motive.
“Uhm… yeah, sure,” you said, almost before you thought about it.
Adrien gave you a soft smile in response, and you noticed the faintest ‘Merci’ slip from his lips, as though he was thankful you’d agreed.
You couldn’t help but notice how your heart beat a little faster as you walked with him to the grounds, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your shoes, the crispness of the air making your breath visible in the autumn light. Adrien didn’t speak much during the walk, but there was an ease to it. A peaceful silence that you didn’t mind. You sat together on the grass, your books spread out in front of you, and for a few moments, the world just… slowed down.
The next few weeks felt much the same—slow, but different in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. You and Adrien started meeting more often, sometimes in the common room, other times out by the grounds. Conversations that had once felt awkward or forced now came more naturally. You weren’t always talking, but there was a sense of comfort in simply being near him.
You also started to notice the little things. Sometimes, when you were walking to class, Adrien would fall in step beside you. And not just to the library or the grounds, but even to places you didn’t have class together. You found yourself looking up, seeing his warm smile as he walked with you—just there, beside you. It wasn’t a big gesture, but there was something so simple and steady about it. You didn’t have to ask. He was just there.
Occasionally, he would notice you struggling with your bag or books, and without a second thought, Adrien would take them from you.
“Here,” he’d say, ‘Mon dieu,’ he’d mutter under his breath as he adjusted the weight, realising it was more than he anticipated. “I might have underestimated that.”
His touch was gentle, but firm, and his eyes always met yours with that same warm, effortless kindness. It wasn’t anything big, but it made you feel strangely cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.
And then, one day, you realised you were no longer simply meeting him in the library or on the grounds. Adrien had started showing up outside of those places, walking you to and from your classes. Even when you didn’t have class together, you’d find him walking beside you. Sometimes, you’d talk, sometimes not. But you always felt… lighter, more grounded with him by your side.
By the fifth week, something had changed. You were running late, as usual. You rushed through the hallways, trying to make it to Potions class on time, your bag slung over your shoulder and your books clutched tightly in your arms. You were almost there when you heard Slughorn’s voice, carrying through the door as he gave his typical greeting.
“Settle down, everyone!” Professor Slughorn’s booming voice echoed, followed by his characteristic chuckle. “We’re about to begin!”
You pushed the door open quickly, slipping inside the classroom and feeling a rush of embarrassment. As you entered, your eyes immediately searched for a spot. The room was buzzing with conversation, but the first thing you noticed was Theodore’s desk—his books already neatly arranged on the surface. He was speaking to a group of students, laughing softly, not yet noticing you.
Your gaze flicked over to the other side of the room, where Adrien was sitting alone. His posture was relaxed, his usual calm expression on his face. He seemed unaware of the subtle tension you felt, but when his eyes met yours, there was a flicker of warmth, a quiet understanding between you both that had grown stronger over the past few weeks.
You hesitated for a moment. Theodore’s desk was set up just a few feet away, and yet, it felt so distant. You swallowed, glancing back at Adrien, who was looking at you with that familiar, soft smile.
You took a few steps toward his desk, feeling your heart race a little. Your thoughts collided in a whirlwind—Should I? Will it be okay? You were almost at his side when you stopped, unsure. Was it too bold, too sudden?
“Is it… okay if I sit here?” you asked quietly, your voice small but sincere, the question almost slipping out before you could stop it.
Adrien’s face lit up, his smile widening with ease. There was no hesitation in his response. “Of course,” he said, his accent slipping through just a bit as he added, “It’s… it’s more than okay.”
The words had a warmth that settled in your chest. You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was something comforting about the way he made you feel, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
You slid into the seat beside him, your books still clutched in your lap, and glanced at the front of the room where Slughorn was still greeting the class. Your thoughts, however, lingered on the quiet space between you and Adrien. You couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt to sit next to him, how his presence made the world feel just a little bit softer.
Adrien shifted a little closer to his desk, leaning slightly in your direction as he began to unpack his things, but not too much—just enough to let you know he was there. It was subtle, but it made you feel less alone. You were here, in this moment, and for some reason, it felt like it mattered.
You settled into your seat, feeling the class start to hum around you as Slughorn continued his instructions. The words were a distant background noise now, and for a brief moment, you felt as though the world outside of this room had faded away. You were no longer rushing to catch up or trying to keep pace with your thoughts. You were just here, with Adrien, and it felt… easy.
The days had started to drag on, and with each one, the sense that something was off between you and Theodore Nott grew heavier. He couldn’t pinpoint it at first. There hadn’t been a single moment where you had argued or said anything that would cause him to doubt things between you. It was all the little things—the quiet shifts in your behaviour that he couldn’t ignore.
At first, he tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just the usual school pressure. Everyone was busy, and he knew you had other commitments, other friends. But the more he thought about it, the more something didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been by his side in the usual places—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall.
Theodore had always found comfort in those small, predictable routines you shared. The moments where you’d sneak into the library early, books scattered around the table as you both tried to get ahead on your assignments. The way you’d meet up in the courtyard after class, sharing a quiet moment before heading off to your next lesson. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was your time, and it made everything feel familiar, safe, like the world around you could be chaotic, but at least you had that.
But now, it was as if those small moments had slipped away. You weren’t there waiting for him, and you weren’t with him when he expected you to be. At first, it was easy to ignore. But then, one morning, when he entered the dining hall, he caught sight of you. And his heart sank.
You were sitting with Adrien Delacroix.
It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to sit with him—it was more that it was so different. You weren’t sitting with him like usual. You hadn’t even looked in his direction when he walked in. You and Adrien were talking, laughing, your heads bent close together as you shared some private joke.
Theodore’s eyes narrowed. Okay, he thought. It’s nothing. You were just talking to Adrien. He had no right to be bothered by it. It’s not like you weren’t friends with him. But still—something about it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel normal.
He tried to ignore it as he sat down at his usual spot, forcing himself to focus on his food, but the image of you and Adrien stayed in his mind. He pushed it down, telling himself it was nothing, but the feeling lingered, twisting in his chest.
Days passed, and it didn’t get better. It only seemed to get worse.
Theodore started to notice more subtle things. Like how you always seemed to be in the places that were once yours—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall. And each time, you weren’t with him. You were with Adrien.
It wasn’t just that. You weren’t sitting where you usually did anymore. In the library, you used to sit next to him, always the quiet corner by the window where the light slanted just right. But now, when he walked in, you were already there—across the room, seated next to Adrien, books laid out in front of you both, engrossed in whispers of conversation.
The first time it happened, Theodore had walked in expecting to find you at the usual spot, but you weren’t there. He scanned the room quickly, his heart sinking when he finally saw you. And Adrien.
The feeling in his chest shifted—unsettled, uncomfortable—as he walked past you both, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than it should. You hadn’t looked up, not even when he passed. It was almost like you hadn’t noticed him at all.
The second time it happened, it was during lunch. The same table. The same seats. But again, you weren’t sitting with him. You and Adrien were deep in conversation, the two of you leaning toward each other, laughing about something that seemed to have nothing to do with him.
Theodore sat down, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. And when he did, his eyes would flicker to Adrien, to the way you smiled at him. It’s fine, he told himself again. You and Adrien were friends. But it didn’t feel fine. It didn’t feel right. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being pushed out of the space you once shared.
He couldn’t quite put it into words, but it hurt.
The courtyard was the same. He had always expected to see you there, waiting for him, ready to talk about whatever was on your mind. But more often than not, you were already with Adrien.
It was small at first—those little moments when you weren’t there—but it was consistent. It was happening so often now, he couldn’t ignore it.
Theodore’s eyes followed you from across the courtyard. You were walking with Adrien again, your arms swinging lightly at your sides as you exchanged easy words with him. It wasn’t just that you were walking together—it was how naturally it seemed to come to you. There was no hesitation, no wariness. You were laughing at something Adrien had said, your body language open and comfortable.
Theodore felt a twinge in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. Or maybe it was. He couldn’t quite sort through the jumble of emotions.
You had been so quiet with him lately. But here, with Adrien, you were lighthearted, carefree. So different. It stung.
He’d caught glimpses of this before, bits and pieces—your laughter a little louder when Adrien was around, your smiles more frequent. But seeing it like this, with the two of you walking side by side, so effortlessly close, made it feel… final.
The weight of the past few weeks pressed on him then—the subtle shift, the moments when he’d felt you slipping away without even realising why. You used to seek him out, find excuses to talk to him, to share your thoughts, even your silence. But recently… it had been different. More distant. More reserved.
And then, as if to confirm his suspicions, he saw you—laughing, your eyes bright as you interacted with Adrien and a group of friends. You were introducing Adrien to them, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you made some joke. Astoria and Draco were laughing along, their approval written across their faces. They exchanged knowing looks, their smiles stretching in approval at the ease with which you were interacting with Adrien.
Theodore stopped, watching from the edge of the group, unnoticed. His breath caught in his chest. You were so at ease around him. So different. Your laughter wasn’t strained or forced. It was free. Unburdened. It didn’t take much to see how much more comfortable you were around Adrien than you were with him.
You were surrounded by your friends—laughing, joking, pulling Adrien into the conversation with ease. Their eyes flickered between you two, and he saw them exchange smiles, clearly pleased with the dynamic between you. As if they were glad to see you so happy.
Theodore’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Was this what you were becoming? The person you were without him?
The contrast was sharp. There you were, surrounded by people who seemed to appreciate you, who saw the side of you that he hadn’t seen in weeks. That he’d stopped seeing.
He couldn’t remember when things had started to shift. When had you pulled away? When had Adrien stepped into the spaces that were once his?
His heart ached with the realisation that you were no longer the person he shared these moments with. You weren’t the same. And worse still, it was clear you didn’t need him the way you had before.
But how had it happened? He thought, watching you, his mind spiralling.
bye i love this
OMG THANK YOU, IM SO GLAD YOU LIEKD IT <3
Paris, Texas
Pairing - Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader
Word Count - 19534 [2 to 3 hours of reading time - depending]
Content Warning - Slow burn Angst, Unrequited love, Pining!Reader, Being taken for granted, google-translated italian and french (i am an asian woman, i don’t know a lick of french)
Summary - Loving someone they way you want to be loved, doesn't always mean you will be loved the same way back
A.N. - Writing this whenever I got the chance (which also the same days that I don't speak a word of English). Thanks to ChatGPT for making this readable. Also dividers by @firefly-graphics <3
Poll Results: Literally everyone said to post this "now" (as in 4 days ago "now") but I ended up working 38 hours at my part-time since then so I apologise. Also this was also redrafted about 7 times because I wanted a realistic ending.
Enjoy! <3 (commenting and reblogging feeds the writing gremlin)
Wizards slowly began adopting Muggle holidays sometime around the 18th century. Those living in London found themselves enjoying each little tradition, each celebration the Muggles offered.
Valentine’s Day was one of the latest fads in the British-wizarding forums. Some had said a big-time French socialite had apparently introduced the tradition to his British amour, and since then, the excitement spread through the grapevine. From gifting beautiful, forever-blooming flowers to your beloved, to others frantically checking their Chocolate Frogs were not spiked with Amortentia — young wizards started basking in the celebration of young love (or platonic love for some).
Everyone, except you.
Classmates, dorm mates, and even your own best friends — Joycelin Sweeting and Astoria Greengrass — were ecstatic over the festivities. They had dragged you each weekend leading up to the big day to Hogsmeade and even trekked up to Diagon Alley for the perfect presents for their other halves. You were happy for them.
Truly.
They both had that beautiful twinkle in their eyes — and even though they were the most bubbly, fun-loving duo, you were almost 100% sure that their pupils turned into literal love hearts around their respective partners. Their hair was always curly or wavy (you had read in some book in the library that the magic surrounding a girl in love made their hair wavy for some reason), and their cheeks ached and flushed red with blush. You promised you were happy for them.
You had promised you were fine, telling Astoria to go on her date and reassuring Joycelin that you had more than enough on your plate. (That was a lie.)
The sun had barely risen but the time you sat in the Great Hall, the low chatter of students around you creating a hum that felt more distant than comforting. The flickering candles overhead cast shadows that danced lazily across the table, but you could not focus on the warmth. You felt the coldness inside you, a familiar emptiness that had settled in your chest ever since things had started to change. You could not help feeling sorry for yourself. Sitting here, on the morning of Valentine’s Day, seemingly the only student sitting alone. The dining hall was already quiet as it was, with many students opting for more romantic settings.
Your eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, your gaze inevitably falling on Theodore. He was there, of course, just like he always was, wrapped up in the world he had created around himself. The world that no longer seemed to have much space for you.
You could feel the ache settle into your bones, a quiet reminder of everything that had gone wrong—or seemingly, what seem to have disappeared over the winter break. It was not that he did not notice you; it was that he seemed to look through you these days. Every time you tried to get close, tried to bridge the growing chasm between the two of you, he had backed away, like you were not worth the effort.
And that was it. You were not worth the effort.
Theodore’s eyes did not meet yours now, and you were not sure if it was out of avoidance or simple disinterest. He had the same nonchalant air about him, speaking to the people around him in a tone that was not sharp, but cold enough to make you feel it in your gut. His friends, his fellow Slytherins, hung on the few words he said, laughing and teasing with ease. They did not know the quiet pain you felt just from being in the same room with him.
You turned your attention back to your plate, pushing food around without really touching it. The silence between you and him had become more deafening with each passing day. You tried to ignore it, to accept that it was what it was, but that did not stop the small part of you, the part that still hoped, from holding on.
A sharp pang of disappointment twisted in your chest as you watched a few girls from the other end of the table approach Theodore. Their laughter rang in the air, a sound that was light and carefree, like the weight of everything was irrelevant. You knew how they looked at him. You had seen it before. He was everything they admired—charming in a nonchalant type of way, and, for every reason you had been drawn to him in the first place, they couldn’t get enough of him.
A wave of frustration washed over you. You wanted to get up, leave this place where you felt so invisible, but the more you tried to retreat into yourself, the more desperate you were for Theodore to reach out for you.
But just as you were about to turn back to your breakfast, a voice broke through the quiet hum of the hall, this one different — more polite and genuinely warm.
Theodore was halfway through taking a bite of his toast when a voice rang out, light and sweet, carrying through the quiet of the hall, uninvited and unwelcome. “Theo, you are coming to the party tonight, aren’t you?”
The girl who spoke was one of those faces you often saw in the Slytherin corridor but never paid much attention to. A pleasant sort of girl, pretty enough, but always with a crowd. She had the kind of attention that came effortlessly, like a polished stone that had been smoothed by years of admiration. Her soft blonde curls bounced around her face as she leaned toward Theodore, her eyes wide with the warmth of something unfamiliar to you, something that felt a little too bright, too alive.
Her voice, though melodic, carried a subtle undertone of expectation. “It’s going to be fun,” she added with a smile, drawing the words out as though she was fishing for an answer. She did not care about the casualness of the conversation; she knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers brushed lightly against Theodore’s sleeve as she spoke, and you could almost see the way her confidence bloomed in the space between them, wrapping around him as if they were already connected.
Theodore looked up slowly, his gaze flicking toward her, but the moment his eyes met hers, he seemed to settle into a practiced nonchalance. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was not the kind that reached his eyes. He gave a slight nod, still not meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he replied, his voice cool and flat, the same as it always was these days. Detached.
The girl beamed, as if the words were all she had wanted, but before she turned to go, she finally, almost reluctantly, glanced your way. Her eyes lingered on you for the briefest moment, as if she just remembered you were there, as if you had somehow faded into the background of the conversation she had been having with Theodore. It was not an unkind look, just distant — as though acknowledging your presence now was an afterthought.
“Oh,” she said, the pitch of her voice softening just a touch. “What about...” She slowly turned her head to your table. Her smile was kind, but it lacked warmth, like a perfunctory gesture more than a genuine inquiry.
You blinked, suddenly aware of the space between you and Theodore. The hall became so much larger than you had imagined, yet feeling narrower and overwhelming at the same time. You wanted him to say yes—better yet, walk down that endless hall to ask for your opinion. But you were also terrified. You did not want to admit that the very thought of being around people, of pretending to be something you were not, made your chest tighten. At this point, there was no telling what kind of relationship existed between you both. Your thoughts were swarming you these past couple of weeks— with one that had been quietly overcoming your mind for weeks, months now. You wanted to be seen— wanted to be wanted, even if just for a fleeting moment.
But before you could speak, Theodore’s voice cut through the tension, his words sharper than usual. “You know her,” he said, his tone distant and dismissive, “she’s not really a party person.”
And just like that, the words sank into your skin, prickling with discomfort. It was not a lie, not exactly, but it felt wrong. There was a bitter edge to it, something unspoken that settled over the dining hall like a growing storm. You were not a party person, no. But that was not the real reason you’d rather stay away. The truth was more complicated, more suffocating, and Theodore was too busy with his own distractions to notice.
The girl smiled again, this time with a hint of pity that stung more than it comforted. “I see,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, almost apologetic, but you could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips. “I mean, no matter- we can always have fun for her. Right?”
She turned on her heel, slipping into the crowd of students with ease, leaving you in the quiet bubble of awkwardness that you had somehow found yourself in. The weight of his dismissal hung heavy in the air, suffocating you, even though he was not looking at you. His focus had already shifted to his friends, already lost in the rhythm of the day, and you felt the distance between you grow even wider.
You could not help but glance at him again, watching him talk to the group of Slytherins across the table, his face set in a way that looked practiced, familiar. His eyes never once flickered toward you. The indifference stung more than anything. He had done this before, turned his attention elsewhere, as if you were no longer worth the effort.
There was a knot in your stomach, tight and unyielding. It was hard to breathe around it, but you did not dare let it show. You did not dare let anyone see how much it hurt.
You knew better than to try and get his attention, though. You had learned long ago that when Theodore was not looking at you, nothing you did would change it. So you turned your gaze back to your untouched plate, pushing the remaining food around as if it could give you something to focus on, something to fill the hollow space.
The longer you sat there, the heavier the weight in your chest became — suffocating, relentless. The pitying look from that girl lingered in your mind, curling uncomfortably around your thoughts. It was not just the way she’d glanced at you like an afterthought — it was how right Theodore’s words had felt, how easily they’d seemed to confirm something you’d been trying to ignore for weeks.
You are not really a party person.
The words repeated in your head, twisting and distorting until they felt less like a passing comment and more like some unspoken truth — one you could not shake. It was not just that you did not belong at parties. It felt like you did not belong anywhere. Not with your friends, who had drifted into their own little worlds of whispered conversations and excited plans. Not with Theodore, who barely looked at you anymore — and if he did, it was only to find some way to push you further away.
And it was your own fault, was it not?
Your friends had tried — really tried — to keep you close. Joycelin and Astoria had spent weeks begging you to come with them — to Hogsmeade, to the common room, even just to sit with them in the Great Hall. They had coaxed you with warm smiles and reassurances that you’d have fun, but you never did. You could never quite shake the feeling that you were just… there. A shadow lingering behind them, dulling the brightness of their excitement.
It had reached the point where you almost felt guilty for saying yes — because each time you did, you could see it in their eyes. That flicker of hesitation, that subtle change in the air when you sat beside them. As though they were quietly waiting for you to dampen the mood.
You knew they loved you — you knew that. But sometimes love was not enough to stop you from feeling like a burden.
You wondered when it had happened — when you had become this person. The one who sat quietly at the edge of things, watching her friends smile and laugh from somewhere she could no longer reach. The one who had once been so full of warmth, now cold and withdrawn, retreating deeper into herself with each passing day.
It was not that you did not want to fight for what you once had — for Theodore, for your friends, for yourself. It was that you did not know how.
Because the truth was, you were tired — tired of trying to pretend that you were fine, tired of convincing yourself that this hollow feeling was not swallowing you whole. And most of all, you were tired of caring so much when it felt like no one seemed to care about you.
A dull ache settled behind your eyes, and you swallowed hard, blinking quickly to push the feeling down. You did not have the energy to fall apart — not here, not now. Instead, you kept your head low, eyes fixed on your plate as you tried to shrink into the silence, as if that might somehow make everything hurt a little less.
Just as you were about to sink back into your own thoughts, another voice broke through the fog of disappointment. The sudden shift in tone was enough to catch you off guard.
“Excuse me, are you… Y/N, right?”
The voice pulls you from your thoughts. You blink, not expecting to hear anyone speaking to you. When you look up, you are met with a pair of eyes. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, seem to gleam with an unexpected warmth. He stands there, leaning casually against the bench, his posture effortlessly confident. His dark hair, not quite as dark as Theodore’s but with a similar tousled quality, seems to catch the light in all the right places, and you can tell it’s the sort of hair that naturally falls into place, no matter what.
Adrien Delacroix.
His features are distinctively sharp, but there is a softness to them, too. He has a smile that feels almost practiced, easy, as if it is a shield he is worn a thousand times. His bone structure is different from Theodore’s—more delicate, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that seems to be chiseled perfectly. He’s stood there, looking down at you with an easy smile that barely hides his curiosity. He is tall—definitely taller than most guys in your year—and his gaze is steady, almost like he’s trying to read you.
The thought hits you immediately, almost involuntarily. What does he want?
You manage a quiet nod. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”
You blink again, not sure what to say next, but Adrien doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation. You hate how small your voice sounds, especially compared to Adrien’s friendly tone. You immediately wish you could say something more—something to make this interaction feel less awkward, but your words feel like they’re stuck somewhere deep in your chest.
“I thought I… ah…” He pauses briefly, brow creasing as he searches for the right word. “Reconnu — recognised you,” he corrects himself, his accent curling softly around the syllables. He leans casually against the table, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m in a couple of your classes, and I’ve seen you around… but I’ve never had the chance to actually talk to you.”
He pauses for a moment, his hand lifting to push a strand of dark hair behind his ear with the same effortless grace that seems to define him. The way his accent lingers, slightly melodic and smooth as it dances in his words, makes you feel different. There’s something about him that feels different, refined—but not in an obvious, boastful way. Just in the way he holds himself, the subtle lift of his chin, the quiet confidence that lingers even in the simplest gestures.
“History of Magic, right?” Adrien asks, as if pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ve been in my class the last few weeks… I think I sit behind you.”
Your heart beats a little faster, and a flush creeps up your neck. Adrien notices, a quick flash of amusement crossing his face, but he does not make a big deal out of it.
You force a smile, nervous and unsure. “I dunno… I sleep through most of it.”
His lips twitch as he laughs softly, his voice rich, and the sound catches you off guard. “Vraiment? Really?” he says, his grin widening. “You should definitely stay awake. It’s fascinating stuff.” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more in his eyes — something that almost makes you wonder if he’s being sincere.
“I—I’ll try,” you murmur, pulling your sleeves down further, hiding your hands in the folds of your robes. You are not used to this, not used to being noticed like this. Especially not by someone like Adrien, who seems to draw people’s attention without even trying.
You cannot help but notice the way his eyes linger on you for just a moment too long before he blinks and looks away. It’s a small thing, but it sends your heart racing, and you cannot figure out why.
He leans in slightly, his voice lowering a little. “You’ve got that quiet thing going on… makes you seem a bit… mystérieuse.” His lips twitch with a small smile. “It’s cute.”
The words hit you like a shockwave. Cute. The simplicity of it, the way it feels like a compliment that doesn’t carry any weight behind it, makes your chest tighten. It’s not an insult, but something about it makes you feel exposed, like you don’t deserve the attention he’s giving you. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who could be “cute,” not the way the other girls are. You’ve spent so long hiding in the shadows, and now someone like Adrien is standing in front of you, treating you like you are someone worth noticing.
You do not know how to respond, so you just nod, suddenly feeling even more awkward. You can’t help it, your mind races with the thought that maybe he’s just being polite. Or maybe he’s just like the others who like to talk to you out of some weird obligation before moving on to something—or someone—else.
Adrien tilts his head, and for a moment, you are not sure if he’s trying to figure you out or if he’s just watching you. His lips twitch into a smile again, this time a little more knowing. “Well, if you ever need someone to keep you awake in History of Magic, I’m happy to help.”
You try not to smile, but the way his gaze lingers on you, the way he speaks, it’s hard not to. He seems genuine, yet you wonder how much of that is just the way he is—easy, charming, and unbothered.
“Or maybe we could catch up on what you’ve missed in the library?” He smiles, “I noticed you usually run off there as soon as Binns finishes.”
You shift slightly, the discomfort rising in your stomach. “I don’t usually spend much time in the library,” you say, almost apologetically, though you know it’s not entirely true. You’ve been there often, especially in the past few weeks, lingering in corners, trying to lose yourself in the quiet. You’ve seen Adrien there before, too, always focused, always absorbed in his reading. But you don’t mention that. It feels too intimate somehow, like acknowledging his presence would make this interaction even more real.
Adrien’s eyes soften as if he can see through your discomfort. He doesn’t push, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s actually paying attention to you—or just looking for something to fill the silence. He shifts, stepping a little closer, the air between you thick with something unspoken.
“I get that,” he says, his smile growing a little more genuine. “Hogwarts can be… eh… accablant… too much, no?” He chuckles softly. “I’ve only been here a little while, and I’m still figuring out where everything is.” His words are easy, his tone casual, like he’s trying to make you feel less out of place. You can tell he’s trying to make this conversation feel natural, but you can’t help but feel like you are failing at being natural, like every word that leaves your mouth is a stilted attempt to keep up.
You want to say something, to let him in, but the words feel wrong. Why is he even talking to me? You want to scream it, want to ask him why someone like him—who clearly fits in with all the bright, shiny faces at Hogwarts—would want to talk to someone like you. You are used to being on the outside, used to standing in the back while others take the spotlight. And here is Adrien, offering you a sliver of attention like it’s no big deal. You don’t know what to make of it.
But then he continues, his voice slipping back into that light, teasing tone. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, actually. I just didn’t know how to approach you though—thought it might be best find away to do it differently…”
You freeze, caught off guard by the statement. Differently? It feels like a compliment, but it also feels like a judgment. You never meant to be unreachable. Is he saying I’m weird? You can’t stop the flash of insecurity that rises in your chest. You are not sure whether to thank him for the words or shrink away in embarrassment. You barely know him, yet somehow, his words feel like they’ve carved into you in ways you are not ready for.
“Hey — I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Adrien adds, as though sensing the shift in the air. “I just thought… maybe we could hang out sometime? I mean, I’ve seen you around, and you don’t seem like the type to just…” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly as he mutters, “Comment on dit… ah…” His fingers drum lightly on the table as he thinks. “Go with the flow?,” he finishes, a little unsure but still smiling. “You seem… hmm… like someone who thinks for herself. I thought it’d be nice to get to know you.”
The offer feels too big, too much for someone like you to take in, like a question you are not sure you are allowed to answer. You want to say no, to tell him it’s fine and you are used to being alone, but there’s a small part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s being honest.
Before you can figure out what to say, Adrien’s smile softens, and he steps back, giving you a little more space. “I’ll see you around then?” His voice is lighter, not pushing, but still there, lingering.
You sit there, watching him walk away, still unsure whether his invitation was just a formality, something said to pass the time, or if he genuinely meant it. You don’t know. You don’t know him, not really, but the thought of being wanted, of being seen by someone like him, leaves you feeling both lighter and heavier all at once.
You can’t shake the comparison in your mind—the way Theodore’s presence always felt heavy, like there was something between you that you could not name. But with Adrien, it’s different. He’s easy. He doesn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen, like Theodore did. And yet, you feel unsettled, unsure if you should let yourself enjoy this attention.
But why would someone like him be interested in someone like me? You can’t shake the doubt, the feeling that this is all too good to be true.
The first few days after Adrien introduced himself passed with little fanfare. You found yourself thinking back to his words, but they felt like little more than a fleeting moment in the midst of your usual routine. School was still a whirlwind—lessons, assignments, and the ever-present hum of your friends dragging you along, their chatter and laughter filling up the corners of your days. You barely had time to notice the absence of anything new.
It was only in the quieter moments, when you found yourself alone with your thoughts, that Adrien’s voice would drift back into your mind. “It was nice talking to you.”
You weren’t sure why it lingered. He’d said it casually, a throwaway comment as if it was no different from any other greeting. But it was different. You weren’t used to being treated like that. It was a small thing, but in a life that had felt so filled with noise and obligation, it felt like a small light. Yet you pushed it aside. You didn’t know him. He was a stranger, no matter how pleasant.
Days passed, and you carried on as usual. You caught glimpses of him in the halls occasionally, but he never approached you again. You hadn’t expected him to, really. And you didn’t know what you would have done if he had.
But then, a few days later, you were walking down the corridor on your way to the library, a pile of books pressed tightly against your chest. You had your mind on your homework and what you had left to do that afternoon.
As you passed a corner near the library’s entrance, you nearly collided with someone. You glanced up, startled, and there he was—Adrien, his warm eyes locking onto yours as though he’d been expecting to see you. He stepped back just in time, allowing you to continue walking.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Hi,” you answered, a little caught off guard, though you couldn’t quite place why. His smile was warm, genuine, and it did something strange to your heart—a soft flutter that you quickly buried under a sense of confusion. Why did it feel different when he smiled at you?
“I was actually heading to the library, too,” Adrien continued, his words stumbling slightly before he found the right phrasing. “I… uh… if you, uh, don’t mind, maybe I could… walk with you?”
His words came out with a slight hesitation, but his smile remained steady. You caught a soft ‘D’accord’ under his breath, as if he had been about to say something before stopping himself.
You didn’t answer immediately, unsure why it felt so difficult. But then you just shrugged. What harm could it do? It wasn’t like you had to say yes, but his offer felt casual enough—so you nodded.
“Sure, why not.”
The walk wasn’t long. You had a few moments of awkward silence, your footsteps echoing slightly in the hallway. But Adrien didn’t seem bothered by it. He didn’t try to fill the silence with pointless chatter, as some people would. He just walked beside you, the occasional glance in your direction almost like an invitation to speak, but never pushing for it.
When you arrived at the library, you felt an odd sense of… expectation. But why? You weren’t sure, and you couldn’t figure it out. He hadn’t even asked to sit with you. And yet, when you found a quiet corner, Adrien dropped down across from you with a casual air, pulling out a few books from his bag. You didn’t speak much at first, but the way he settled next to you, not intruding on your space but in a way that made you aware of him, was somehow comforting.
You focused on your work, but there were moments when you found yourself glancing up at him. His eyes were always so soft, always paying attention to the books in front of him, but you could tell that sometimes he looked at you, too. It was subtle, but it was there. He was careful, though, and never pressed you. You never felt like you were being watched. But there was something there, something unspoken.
It wasn’t like you’d thought anything would happen, but somehow, you felt a little lighter in the moments you shared with him, even if they were silent. You told yourself it was just the solitude of the library making it feel that way, nothing more.
The next few days followed a similar rhythm. Adrien continued to show up, not in an overwhelming way, but in the way of someone who was content with simply sharing space. You’d find him walking beside you in the halls, or—more often than not—he’d be sitting across from you in the library, quietly reading. Some days, he’d nod in your direction, offering a small, knowing smile. Other times, he would remain absorbed in his books, but you’d catch a glance his way, and his eyes would flicker toward yours before he quickly returned to what he was doing.
You still didn’t know how to feel about it. You weren’t used to the attention. It wasn’t anything grand or demanding, and maybe that’s why it unsettled you. Maybe it felt too easy. And maybe that was why you kept waiting for the moment it would end—waiting for the point where you’d both go your separate ways, like you always had before.
But that moment didn’t come.
A week passed, then two. Adrien didn’t disappear, but his presence began to feel familiar. Not in a bad way, but in the way that something small can slowly start to settle into your life without you quite realising it. You found yourself moving through your days in that strange mix of normalcy and anticipation.
By the third week, he’d started sitting next to you before you even had a chance to settle in. No longer waiting for an invitation, he simply dropped down next to you, book in hand. The quiet exchanges—small smiles, the soft rustle of pages turning—began to feel almost like a routine. Not something you had to think about.
And then, one day, he spoke up as you were gathering your things.
“I was thinking of going outside to study today,” Adrien said, looking at you as if the question were almost an afterthought. “Would you like to join me? The grounds look quieter with it being a little colder, no?”
You blinked, a little thrown off by the suggestion. You’d never thought of studying outdoors, especially when it was getting colder, but you couldn’t help but feel the soft pull of the invitation. There was something about the way he asked—it wasn’t pressure. It wasn’t forceful. It was simply an offer, the kind of offer you didn’t often get. No one had ever asked you to just be there, to sit in the open air and study without some ulterior motive.
“Uhm… yeah, sure,” you said, almost before you thought about it.
Adrien gave you a soft smile in response, and you noticed the faintest ‘Merci’ slip from his lips, as though he was thankful you’d agreed.
You couldn’t help but notice how your heart beat a little faster as you walked with him to the grounds, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your shoes, the crispness of the air making your breath visible in the autumn light. Adrien didn’t speak much during the walk, but there was an ease to it. A peaceful silence that you didn’t mind. You sat together on the grass, your books spread out in front of you, and for a few moments, the world just… slowed down.
The next few weeks felt much the same—slow, but different in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. You and Adrien started meeting more often, sometimes in the common room, other times out by the grounds. Conversations that had once felt awkward or forced now came more naturally. You weren’t always talking, but there was a sense of comfort in simply being near him.
You also started to notice the little things. Sometimes, when you were walking to class, Adrien would fall in step beside you. And not just to the library or the grounds, but even to places you didn’t have class together. You found yourself looking up, seeing his warm smile as he walked with you—just there, beside you. It wasn’t a big gesture, but there was something so simple and steady about it. You didn’t have to ask. He was just there.
Occasionally, he would notice you struggling with your bag or books, and without a second thought, Adrien would take them from you.
“Here,” he’d say, ‘Mon dieu,’ he’d mutter under his breath as he adjusted the weight, realising it was more than he anticipated. “I might have underestimated that.”
His touch was gentle, but firm, and his eyes always met yours with that same warm, effortless kindness. It wasn’t anything big, but it made you feel strangely cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.
And then, one day, you realised you were no longer simply meeting him in the library or on the grounds. Adrien had started showing up outside of those places, walking you to and from your classes. Even when you didn’t have class together, you’d find him walking beside you. Sometimes, you’d talk, sometimes not. But you always felt… lighter, more grounded with him by your side.
By the fifth week, something had changed. You were running late, as usual. You rushed through the hallways, trying to make it to Potions class on time, your bag slung over your shoulder and your books clutched tightly in your arms. You were almost there when you heard Slughorn’s voice, carrying through the door as he gave his typical greeting.
“Settle down, everyone!” Professor Slughorn’s booming voice echoed, followed by his characteristic chuckle. “We’re about to begin!”
You pushed the door open quickly, slipping inside the classroom and feeling a rush of embarrassment. As you entered, your eyes immediately searched for a spot. The room was buzzing with conversation, but the first thing you noticed was Theodore’s desk—his books already neatly arranged on the surface. He was speaking to a group of students, laughing softly, not yet noticing you.
Your gaze flicked over to the other side of the room, where Adrien was sitting alone. His posture was relaxed, his usual calm expression on his face. He seemed unaware of the subtle tension you felt, but when his eyes met yours, there was a flicker of warmth, a quiet understanding between you both that had grown stronger over the past few weeks.
You hesitated for a moment. Theodore’s desk was set up just a few feet away, and yet, it felt so distant. You swallowed, glancing back at Adrien, who was looking at you with that familiar, soft smile.
You took a few steps toward his desk, feeling your heart race a little. Your thoughts collided in a whirlwind—Should I? Will it be okay? You were almost at his side when you stopped, unsure. Was it too bold, too sudden?
“Is it… okay if I sit here?” you asked quietly, your voice small but sincere, the question almost slipping out before you could stop it.
Adrien’s face lit up, his smile widening with ease. There was no hesitation in his response. “Of course,” he said, his accent slipping through just a bit as he added, “It’s… it’s more than okay.”
The words had a warmth that settled in your chest. You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was something comforting about the way he made you feel, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
You slid into the seat beside him, your books still clutched in your lap, and glanced at the front of the room where Slughorn was still greeting the class. Your thoughts, however, lingered on the quiet space between you and Adrien. You couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt to sit next to him, how his presence made the world feel just a little bit softer.
Adrien shifted a little closer to his desk, leaning slightly in your direction as he began to unpack his things, but not too much—just enough to let you know he was there. It was subtle, but it made you feel less alone. You were here, in this moment, and for some reason, it felt like it mattered.
You settled into your seat, feeling the class start to hum around you as Slughorn continued his instructions. The words were a distant background noise now, and for a brief moment, you felt as though the world outside of this room had faded away. You were no longer rushing to catch up or trying to keep pace with your thoughts. You were just here, with Adrien, and it felt… easy.
The days had started to drag on, and with each one, the sense that something was off between you and Theodore Nott grew heavier. He couldn’t pinpoint it at first. There hadn’t been a single moment where you had argued or said anything that would cause him to doubt things between you. It was all the little things—the quiet shifts in your behaviour that he couldn’t ignore.
At first, he tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just the usual school pressure. Everyone was busy, and he knew you had other commitments, other friends. But the more he thought about it, the more something didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been by his side in the usual places—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall.
Theodore had always found comfort in those small, predictable routines you shared. The moments where you’d sneak into the library early, books scattered around the table as you both tried to get ahead on your assignments. The way you’d meet up in the courtyard after class, sharing a quiet moment before heading off to your next lesson. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was your time, and it made everything feel familiar, safe, like the world around you could be chaotic, but at least you had that.
But now, it was as if those small moments had slipped away. You weren’t there waiting for him, and you weren’t with him when he expected you to be. At first, it was easy to ignore. But then, one morning, when he entered the dining hall, he caught sight of you. And his heart sank.
You were sitting with Adrien Delacroix.
It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to sit with him—it was more that it was so different. You weren’t sitting with him like usual. You hadn’t even looked in his direction when he walked in. You and Adrien were talking, laughing, your heads bent close together as you shared some private joke.
Theodore’s eyes narrowed. Okay, he thought. It’s nothing. You were just talking to Adrien. He had no right to be bothered by it. It’s not like you weren’t friends with him. But still—something about it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel normal.
He tried to ignore it as he sat down at his usual spot, forcing himself to focus on his food, but the image of you and Adrien stayed in his mind. He pushed it down, telling himself it was nothing, but the feeling lingered, twisting in his chest.
Days passed, and it didn’t get better. It only seemed to get worse.
Theodore started to notice more subtle things. Like how you always seemed to be in the places that were once yours—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall. And each time, you weren’t with him. You were with Adrien.
It wasn’t just that. You weren’t sitting where you usually did anymore. In the library, you used to sit next to him, always the quiet corner by the window where the light slanted just right. But now, when he walked in, you were already there—across the room, seated next to Adrien, books laid out in front of you both, engrossed in whispers of conversation.
The first time it happened, Theodore had walked in expecting to find you at the usual spot, but you weren’t there. He scanned the room quickly, his heart sinking when he finally saw you. And Adrien.
The feeling in his chest shifted—unsettled, uncomfortable—as he walked past you both, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than it should. You hadn’t looked up, not even when he passed. It was almost like you hadn’t noticed him at all.
The second time it happened, it was during lunch. The same table. The same seats. But again, you weren’t sitting with him. You and Adrien were deep in conversation, the two of you leaning toward each other, laughing about something that seemed to have nothing to do with him.
Theodore sat down, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. And when he did, his eyes would flicker to Adrien, to the way you smiled at him. It’s fine, he told himself again. You and Adrien were friends. But it didn’t feel fine. It didn’t feel right. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being pushed out of the space you once shared.
He couldn’t quite put it into words, but it hurt.
The courtyard was the same. He had always expected to see you there, waiting for him, ready to talk about whatever was on your mind. But more often than not, you were already with Adrien.
It was small at first—those little moments when you weren’t there—but it was consistent. It was happening so often now, he couldn’t ignore it.
Theodore’s eyes followed you from across the courtyard. You were walking with Adrien again, your arms swinging lightly at your sides as you exchanged easy words with him. It wasn’t just that you were walking together—it was how naturally it seemed to come to you. There was no hesitation, no wariness. You were laughing at something Adrien had said, your body language open and comfortable.
Theodore felt a twinge in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. Or maybe it was. He couldn’t quite sort through the jumble of emotions.
You had been so quiet with him lately. But here, with Adrien, you were lighthearted, carefree. So different. It stung.
He’d caught glimpses of this before, bits and pieces—your laughter a little louder when Adrien was around, your smiles more frequent. But seeing it like this, with the two of you walking side by side, so effortlessly close, made it feel… final.
The weight of the past few weeks pressed on him then—the subtle shift, the moments when he’d felt you slipping away without even realising why. You used to seek him out, find excuses to talk to him, to share your thoughts, even your silence. But recently… it had been different. More distant. More reserved.
And then, as if to confirm his suspicions, he saw you—laughing, your eyes bright as you interacted with Adrien and a group of friends. You were introducing Adrien to them, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you made some joke. Astoria and Draco were laughing along, their approval written across their faces. They exchanged knowing looks, their smiles stretching in approval at the ease with which you were interacting with Adrien.
Theodore stopped, watching from the edge of the group, unnoticed. His breath caught in his chest. You were so at ease around him. So different. Your laughter wasn’t strained or forced. It was free. Unburdened. It didn’t take much to see how much more comfortable you were around Adrien than you were with him.
You were surrounded by your friends—laughing, joking, pulling Adrien into the conversation with ease. Their eyes flickered between you two, and he saw them exchange smiles, clearly pleased with the dynamic between you. As if they were glad to see you so happy.
Theodore’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Was this what you were becoming? The person you were without him?
The contrast was sharp. There you were, surrounded by people who seemed to appreciate you, who saw the side of you that he hadn’t seen in weeks. That he’d stopped seeing.
He couldn’t remember when things had started to shift. When had you pulled away? When had Adrien stepped into the spaces that were once his?
His heart ached with the realisation that you were no longer the person he shared these moments with. You weren’t the same. And worse still, it was clear you didn’t need him the way you had before.
But how had it happened? He thought, watching you, his mind spiralling.
i hope you guys like Theodore Nott because I’ve just wrote an 11k+ fic for him 🫣 (i apologise for the lack of formatting—AGAIN)
(pls comment cause i don’t know how to look at the poll results real time) (NEVERMIND I FIGURED IT OUT)
i wrote it!
when should i post?
now
tonight
tomorrow morning
tonight
finish off your uni work first
Chapter 2 | Between Mercy & Malice
Previous Chapter - Next Chapter
Pairing - Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader
Word Count - 6309 words
Content Warning - Alot of aruging (I was in an angsty argumentative mood so I may have gotten carried away), I feel like this is more of a filler to what I have planned. Also this definitely will be more than 4 chapters. I love putting my reader in pain? Sorry guys
A.N. Not really happy with this to be honest, but it is what it is. If it disappears I probably decided to rework it. I actually did a bit of my thesis this time so its like a reward. Please praise me i know this isn't the best, but my English clocks out when I'm at home and I did my thesis so like.
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The Scriptorium breathed. It inhaled with the shifting of shadows and exhaled with the distant creak of bookshelves, the air thick and damp with age. The stone walls were slick in places, the scent of mildew threading through the heavy perfume of melted wax and rotting parchment. The green candlelight barely held back the dark, casting a sickly glow that did little to warm the space. It wasn’t just dim—it was oppressive, the kind of darkness that pressed against the skin, slithered into the lungs, and settled like a weight in the bones.
Sebastian moved through it, restless, pacing, fingers ghosting over cracked book spines. The bookshelves loomed over him, towering far past where the candlelight could reach, their contents shrouded in shadows so deep they almost felt alive. The books themselves were ancient, their bindings peeling, their pages brittle with time. Many bore no titles, just faded etchings or deep gouges like someone had tried to erase them from existence. He pulled them down one by one, flipping feverishly through their pages, his breathing shallow.
Not enough. Not enough.
The words on the parchment blurred as he skimmed them—descriptions of dark spells, forbidden potions, rituals that required things he refused to consider. The magic here was cruel, twisting the body and mind, but none of it was what he needed. None of it was the answer.
You are close.
A voice slithered through the silence, curling around his thoughts like smoke.
Sebastian flinched, his grip tightening on the book in his hands. The voice curled around him like smoke, whispering from the edges of the room, seeping into the space behind his ribs.
Keep looking.
There is more. You know there is more. You just must keep looking.
He stiffened, fingers tightening around the brittle pages of an unnamed tome. The whisper had no clear source, no direction—it simply was, sinking into his mind like spilled ink into water.
He exhaled through his nose, grounding himself. He was imagining things. It was the Scriptorium playing tricks, feeding on the exhaustion that gnawed at him. That was all.
You are close. But you need more.
His hands moved faster now, turning pages in a frenzy, scanning for something—anything— that could help Anne. The flickering light stretched his shadow across the stone floor, distorting its shape, making it seem as if something else lurked just behind him, just out of sight. The sensation crawled up his spine, bhut he ignored it. His heart pounded against his ribs. He knew it wasn’t real. He knew the Scriptorium was a place steeped in dark magic, a place designed to worm into the mind, to tempt, to lure. But knowing did not make it any easier to ignore.
You have no time for doubt, the voice urged, a slow, insidious thing. You have seen what curse magic can do. What if the answer is not in undoing it, but in understanding it?
“I just need to find the right spell,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to focus, to ignore the way the air felt thick with something unseen. “Something that can help Anne.”
Sebastian’s fingers hesitated on a page lined with jagged runes, their meaning just out of reach.
Yes, the voice cooed. For Anne. But you know, don’t you? The magic in these pages is not enough. It never is. You must go deeper.
You could wield it. Bend it to your will. Make them pay.
He shut the book with a snap, breath coming quicker now. His hands shook as he grabbed another, flipping through pages lined with cramped, spidery text. More pain curses, rituals demanding blood and bone. Not enough. Not what he needed.
He shook his head. “No. I just—I just need a way to fix her.”
The voice hummed in amusement. You hesitate. Why? If you had the power, you could have saved your already.
And what happens when you cannot? The whisper curled at the edges of his mind, sinking deeper. When the damage is permanent? When there is no cure?
His throat tightened. “This is for Anne,” he said, harsher this time. “I don’t care about anything else.”
Sebastian’s throat tightened. No. There had to be something. He refused to accept anything less.
A pause. Then—No? What about the ones who hurt her? The ones who left her like this?
She deserves justice, Sebastian. You know that. They hurt ger. And they will do it again, and again, and again. They will hurt others. But you can stop them. You can make sure no one else suffers like she did.
Sebastian went still.
If you will not do it, then who will? Solomon? He could not even make it as an accomplished auror. Do you really want to leave your sister’s life in his hands?
“I’m doing something.” He snapped, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
They did this to her. They deserve to suffer for it.
You need more.
A sharp exhale left his lips. His pulse roared in his ears, in time with the flickering candlelight. He had thought it before—they had done this. Anne had been cursed, her life stolen piece by piece, and no one had paid the price for it.
Sebastian’s breath came faster now, his grip white-knuckled on the brittle parchment.
The voice curled around the thought like a serpent tightening its coils. Make them pay. You have the power—you just need more.
And you know where to find it.
His fingers dug into the cover of the book. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “I just need to find the cure,” he whispered, but it didn’t sound as certain as before.
Then—
The Scriptorium breathed. The shadows stretched longer, the darkness thickening. The voice was closer now, just behind his ear.
And if the cure is vengeance? Wouldn’t that be justice? Wouldn’t Anne be safer? It exhaled, a near-tangible warmth against his neck. Wouldn’t you feel better?
A metallic crash shattered the air.
The sound shattered through the thick silence, sharp and jarring. A bronze oil lamp hit the stone floor, rolling on its side before settling. The flame sputtered, flickering wildly, casting frantic shadows against the walls.
Sebastian whirled around, his heart slamming into his ribs. His wand was already in his hand before he realized what had happened.
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You were there, a bronze oil lamp split by your feet, rocking slightly where it had fallen. Just beyond it, you stood frozen, your fingers still half-outstretched like you had tried—and failed—to stop it from toppling over. Ominis was beside you, hovering at your shoulder, his posture stiff with tension.
Slumped slightly against the pulpit, your breath uneven, your hand clutching your shoulder as if to contain something unseen. Ominis hovered at your side, his face pale and drawn, one hand outstretched as if prepared to catch you should you fall. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first. Your gaze flickered to Sebastian, taking him in—his heaving chest, his pale face, the wild look in his eyes.
Sebastian’s pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the remnants of the voice, silencing its whispers in an instant.
“What… what are you doing?”
“What happened?” His voice sounded foreign, hoarse, as if he had forgotten how to use it.
Ominis snaped his head towards him, the movement sharp filled with unrestrained fury tightening his features.
“What do you think happened?”
Sebastian’s mouth opened, but no words came. His gaze flickered back to you, taking in the way you trembled despite your insistence that you were fine, the way you held yourself stiffly, pain leaking through cracks in your façade.
Your voice was quiet, uncertain. "Sebastian? What are you doing?"
The world around you was slow. Too slow. As if time had stretched thin, the air thickened into something treacherous, and every breath lodged itself in your chest before you could fully take it in. The Scriptorium loomed, the weight of its darkness pressing against your skin, the shadows dense and unmoving. The oil lamp rocked where it had fallen, the dying flame sputtering, reflecting weakly in the damp sheen of the stone floor.
You forced yourself to look past it, to take in the bookshelves lining the walls—towering, gnarled things that seemed to shift in the periphery of your vision. The scent of old parchment and melted wax hung heavy, cloying in your throat. Somewhere, the low creak of wood settled into silence, as if even the Scriptorium itself had gone still in anticipation.
Your body ached. It was not the sharp, bright kind of pain that demanded immediate attention, but something insidious—an ache that had settled deep beneath your skin, creeping through your veins like slow-moving poison. Your muscles trembled as you tried to shift your weight, the ghost of the curse still lingering, burrowing into your bones. Every inhale sent dull, throbbing waves through your ribs, your back, your limbs. You clenched your jaw.
Not now. Not in front of them.
You exhaled through your nose, careful, controlled, and lifted your gaze to Sebastian.
He was standing stiffly, his wand still gripped in one hand, knuckles bloodless where his fingers dug into it. His chest rose and fell too fast, his dark eyes blown wide, darting over your like he was searching for something—reassurance. Or confirmation of something worse. His robes were dishevelled, the collar of his shirt undone, his tie slightly askew like he had yanked at it without realizing. The candlelight cast sharp hollows along his face, accentuating the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his mouth. His hair, usually immaculately in place, was a mess—strands sticking up like he had run his hands through it one too many times. He looked wild. Unsettled.
When he spoke, his voice was too tight, too sharp around the edges. "You—you're alright?" The words came out rushed, tangled, as if he hadn’t meant to say them that way. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and when he spoke again, it was different—measured, lighter. "I mean—of course you are. You're—you know, you."
You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Your limbs felt weighed down, each movement a test of willpower. Instead, you just watched him, eyes tracing the flicker of uncertainty that flashed across his face before he buried it beneath something else—something steadier, more composed.
A mask. One you weren’t sure was meant for your or for himself.
"Sebastian.” Your voice was softer this time, but no less cautious. “What are you doing?"
He stiffened. His grip on the book tightened, knuckles straining against his skin. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came at first—just a breath, sharp and unsteady, like he was bracing himself.
"I—I was just—" he started, the words faltering, tripping over themselves before he caught them. His gaze flickered away, down to the book clutched in his hands, as if he had to remind himself of it. "I found something. I think. It—it might be—"
A sharp inhale. His fingers curled tighter around the brittle parchment, his voice rushing now, words spilling over one another. "It’s not enough, but it’s close. I just—I need to keep looking. There’s more, I know there’s more, I just have to—"
He stopped abruptly, as if realizing how frenzied he sounded. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and forced his expression into something more measured. "I mean—everything is mentioning things about curses but— it's like— there has to be the exact one—"
Sebastian’s voice wavered with urgency, each word coming out more frantic than the last, the book in his hands trembling as if it were an anchor keeping him grounded. His dark eyes darted around the room, flicking over you with an intensity that felt more like searching than concern.
“I—” He paused, jaw clenched. “I need to find it, the spell, the one that’ll—”
He stopped again, as if realizing something, or maybe sensing that you were watching him too closely. His gaze flickered down to the book, his fingers twitching as though he was physically trying to keep his thoughts from spilling out all at once.
“Sebastian, you’re shaking,” you said softly, but the words held weight.
He looked up at your then, his breath coming too fast. The wildness in his gaze only sharpened, like a storm too close to contain. He looked as if he were about to say something more, but then he just inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing in concentration.
“It’s not enough,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “The magic in these books, it’s all twisted, broken. But—there’s more, I know it. I can feel it.”
You took a cautious step closer, every movement a calculated decision. Your body was still burning with the lingering pain, the ache that spread through your like a poison, but you forced it back, pushing the feeling to the back of your mind. You weren’t going to let it show, not now.
“Sebastian, what are you talking about?” Your voice was steady, though a flicker of something sharp ran through the words. You didn’t like the way he was speaking, the desperation edging into his tone, the way the intensity in his eyes seemed to burn through you.
He swallowed hard, fingers clutching the book so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. “Well, it’s—it’s for Anne. You... I can’t fix her. Not the way I thought. But I’ll—I’ll find a way to make it right. There’s always a way.” His voice cracked on the last words, but he quickly recovered, steadying himself before continuing.
You studied him, every movement, every shift in his posture. His face was drawn, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the sleepless nights, the obsession that had taken over him.
“Sebastian...” you said again, this time with more force, stepping closer. “What exactly are you looking for? What’s in these books? What’s the real plan here?”
For a moment, his eyes locked onto hers, and you could see the flicker of hesitation. It was brief, but it was there. The briefest second of vulnerability before it was buried again, buried beneath layers of frustration and confusion.
“The curse,” he finally said, his voice low, strained. “I can feel it, sense it. There’s something in these rituals, something that can help you. Something that’ll make them all pay for what they did to her.”
Your stomach turned. You couldn’t stop the sick feeling that twisted through you at the mention of vengeance. Justice. He had mentioned that word before, but now it felt wrong. Wrong in a way you couldn’t explain, a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise.
“Sebastian, no,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm, the touch a careful grounding force. Your fingers brushed the fabric of his sleeve, the tension in his muscles tangible beneath the layers. “This isn’t the way. You can’t—this isn’t about revenge.”
He jerked his arm away from your touch, a look of panic flashing across his face, quickly masked by anger. “What do you know? You think I want to—” He stopped, words faltering again, as if he was realizing that he didn’t even believe what he was saying.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he shot back, his voice rising, a touch of bitterness creeping into the edges. “I’m trying to save your, I am.” His eyes softened slightly, the storm clouding his gaze dissipating just enough to show a glimpse of the desperation beneath. “But I can’t let them just get away with it. I won’t sit back while my sister rots away because somebody had the power to do something and chose not to.”
Your chest tightened. You had never seen him like this, this close to breaking, his mind spiralling into a dangerous place.
“But Sebastian,” you said softly, your voice a little more fragile this time, “this magic—what it’s doing to you, to your mind. It’s already changing you. You’re slipping into something darker.”
He flinched, his body stiffening as your words struck a nerve. “I’m not—” he started, but his voice cracked, and for a second, it was like he didn’t know what to say anymore. “I’m doing this for Anne. You’re everything to me.”
“I know,” you whispered, stepping closer. Your hands trembled at your sides, fighting the instinct to reach for him, but you could see him pushing back, not just from your, but from everything that had been weighing on him.
“You’re not alone in this,” you said, your words as steady as you could make them. “But don’t let your pain drive you to this point.”
Sebastian’s eyes closed briefly, his breath hitching. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, turning away from your, facing the books again. The air in the room felt colder, more suffocating as he began speaking to himself, barely noticing the way his voice seemed to spiral into an endless loop.
“I just need more. I just need to find the right one...” he mumbled, as though trying to convince himself of something he couldn’t fully grasp.
You stepped forward and took hold of his wrist, your fingers firm around his skin as you pulled him back to face you. “Sebastian, stop. You need to listen. You’re not hearing me.”
He jerked his arm away from your grip, a flash of frustration crossing his features. His chest heaved with a sharp exhale before he threw his hands up in exasperation.
“And how is it any different?” he shot back, his voice tinged with a bitter edge. “How is it any different from you going after the poachers? Or all those dark wizards you’ve fought? You didn’t hesitate then—so why should I now?”
Your heart skipped at his words. He was right, in a twisted way. You had done things too, things you weren’t proud of. But this? This felt different.
“What do you mean, why should you now?” you spat, finally breaking. Your words came faster, the frustration you had been keeping in seeping through, a storm of emotion breaking loose. “You’re talking about dark magic, Sebastian. You’re talking about destroying yourself for a chance at getting back at someone. At taking revenge. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking just fine,” he snapped, eyes flashing. He took a step forward, bringing them uncomfortably close, his presence overwhelming. “Don’t act like you know what this feels like. You’ve never lost someone you love and been powerless to do anything about it.”
Your breath hitched at his words, but you didn’t back down. “I’ve lost people, too,” you countered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I get it, Sebastian. I understand the rage, the helplessness. But this? This isn’t you. It isn’t who you are.”
He stood silent for a moment, his face softening only slightly before hardening again. “You think I want to lose myself in this?” he asked quietly, though there was a bitter edge to his voice now. “I’m not choosing this. But I have to do whatever it takes.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. Your hands were shaking, your body still aching with the remnants of the curse, but you forced herself to focus. Something was brewing deep in your chest; anxiety or fear you couldn’t decide. You took a deep breath, your voice quieter but firm. “I’m not letting you do this. Not for Anne, not for anyone. This isn’t the way.”
His eyes searched hers, desperate, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, something lost. “And what if it is?” he whispered, his voice almost raw. “What if this is the only way?”
Sebastian’s gaze hardened as he glared back at your, a storm brewing in his eyes. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice thick with bitterness. “You obviously can’t. This isn’t just about revenge. This is about saving you. You think the Ministry can help you? Or my uncle? What about the people at St. Mungo’s? They can’t do anything. They won’t. You’re slipping through our fingers, and I’m the only one who can do something.”
You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first. The anger rose in your chest, settling like a knot in your stomach. You felt your hands tremble, the fury bubbling beneath the surface, but you clenched your fists to control it.
“No one else is going to save her,” Sebastian continued, his voice rising, the desperation cutting through his words. “And no one else is going to make them pay for what they’ve done. I’m the only one who can fix this, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re not the person I thought you were.”
The words cut deeper than he intended, but they didn’t break you. Instead, they fuelled the fire in your chest, making your pulse quicken. You stepped forward, ignoring the sharp pang of pain that still crawled through your body. You were done keeping your thoughts in check.
“You think this is about saving Anne?” you snapped, your voice barely controlled, the tension in your chest making it harder to breathe.
Beside your Ominis flinched, his hand twitched toward you, an instinct to offer support—comfort, even—but you quickly pulled away, your breath hitching. Not now, Ominis. You couldn’t deal with his concern, not when everything felt like it was unravelling.
“You’re wrong,” you continued, your gaze sharp, your voice growing colder. “This isn’t about you. It’s about you thinking you can control everything—everyone.”
He froze, the tension in the room thickening around them. Ominis didn’t argue. He wouldn’t. His presence, the faint shift of his weight on the stone floor, was all that marked his silent worry. You knew he understood. But it didn’t matter.
You couldn’t stop yourself now, the words tumbling out faster than you could stop them, your chest tightening with frustration. “I’ve lost so many people, Sebastian. So many. And you know what? I didn’t have the luxury of getting revenge or making everything right again. You want to fix everything? Then start by looking at what’s in front of you, not some damn curse or twisted spell.”
Your voice cracked on the last words, the weight of your unspoken truth pressing down harder than you anticipated. You didn’t want him to know. You couldn’t bear to tell him. But it was there, unspoken, just beneath the surface.
Sebastian took a step back, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before narrowing.
His mouth opened slightly, as if he might deny it—might defend himself—but no words came. For a heartbeat, the mask cracked. A flicker of something else passed through his eyes—guilt? Doubt?
Then it was gone. His jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened, his fury reigniting like a flame starved of air for too long.
The tension in the room was thick, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “I don’t need you to understand,” he said quietly, but the words carried a sharp edge, like they were meant to wound. “I just need you to stay out of the way. I’m doing this, with or without you.”
Your heart thudded in your chest, and you didn’t want to admit it, but it felt like the final straw. Your patience snapped. “You want to talk about retribution?” you spat, your voice trembling with the force of your anger. “What about yourself, Sebastian? What about what this is doing to you? Because I see it. I see you spiralling, and I’m telling you right now, you’re not going to find redemption in this. You’re not going to find anything but more darkness.”
Sebastian flinched as if the words stung, but then his eyes hardened once again, his anger flaring back. “You think I don’t know that?” he hissed. “I’m not stupid. But I’m doing this for you. You can’t- or won’t understand that, but I don’t need you to.”
Your breath hitched as you clenched your fists, fighting the urge to lash out. You couldn’t—you wouldn’t let him drag you into this madness. “Sebastian, you’re not the only one who’s ever lost someone,” you said through gritted teeth, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “And maybe I can’t fix everything, but I don’t lose myself trying. And I won’t let you.”
He stepped closer, his expression furious, but there was something else behind his eyes, something darker. “Then what do you expect me to do, huh? Let you suffer?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You really think that if I just sit back and let the world spin its way, I’m going to be okay with that? Anne’s dying, and I’m the only one who can save her.”
"Sebastian, you’re not listening!" You were shaking now, frustration mounting with every word he spat in your direction. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, a futile attempt to control the emotions that were spiralling out of control. "This is enough, we’re done here. We’re leaving."
"Leaving?" Sebastian laughed bitterly, stepping closer to you. His eyes burned with an intensity that only made your feel smaller. "You think you're in control of this? You think you get to decide? We’re talking about your—Anne, my sister! Do you have any idea what it’s like to see your sister wasting away, helpless? If you’re not willing to make the hard decisions, fine! Don’t stand in my way. I won’t let you suffer because you think this is some moral high ground!"
"Stop using Anne as an excuse!" You snapped; your voice louder than you intended. The words stung like acid. "You're dragging us all down, Sebastian. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. It seems never have."
Sebastian’s face darkened. "And what the hell do you know about me?" He was close now, close enough that you could feel his breath, hot and desperate. "I didn’t ask for this, for any of it. But now that we have a way, I’m not going to stop—not for you, not for anyone. You can sit there with your moral superiority all you want, but it won’t change the fact that the only way to save Anne is by using this!"
The air around them began to hum, a barely perceptible shift, like static building up before a storm. But neither of them noticed. You were too angry, too hurt by his words, and he was too consumed, too overwhelmed.
A weight pressed against your ribs. The words felt like they were suffocating your, every syllable a slap. The frustration and the hurt came crashing down on your at once, a tidal wave that you couldn’t hold back. Your ancient magic, that faint tinge of blue swirling at your core, surged in response to your outburst. You could feel it.
Feel it creeping up from the depths, like a living thing.
A heavy stillness settled over the chamber, pressing against your ribs like an iron vice. The air felt thick, suffocating, yet you forced herself to keep your breathing steady. One inhale. One exhale. Your hands curled into fists at your sides as you held your ground against Sebastian, his expression flickering between frustration and something darker.
You could feel it worming in, that strange hum beneath your skin. Faint, at first. A whisper at the edges of your awareness. It coiled in your stomach, curling around your ribs, the sensation neither warm nor cold but something in between—like a held breath before a storm. The more Sebastian spoke, the tighter it wound, coiling, twisting, writhing in response to the sharp edge of your anger.
You clenched your jaw. It was fine. You were fine. You just had to hold on a little longer.
But the weight of it only grew. The candlelight flickered, dimming in and out of focus, shadows stretching and contorting at the edges of your vision. You shifted your stance, suddenly unsteady. Something inside your pulsed, an erratic beat hammering against the walls of your ribs. It didn’t hurt—yet—but it was there, pressing, pushing, waiting.
Sebastian took a step closer, his voice cutting through the thick air between them, sharper now, demanding. You flinched. It wasn’t the words themselves that rattled your but the way they struck something deep inside your chest, sending another pulse through your veins.
In an instant, everything shattered.
Books—thousands of them—shot from the shelves, their bindings splintering in mid-air as they were torn from their resting places. The lecterns shook violently, toppling over, their pages flapping like wings in a desperate attempt to escape. Glass shattered with a deafening crack as windows splintered into a thousand jagged shards, cascading down like rain.
The floor beneath your seemed to buckle, the force of the magic warping the very fabric of the room. A crackling energy spiralled upward, wrapping around the balcony, pulling it apart. The once-sturdy wood groaned in protest before giving way, the entire structure collapsing with a violent crash, sending dust and debris into the air, scattering books across the room like confetti.
The ancient magic, untamed and wild, continued to roar around your, thrumming through every inch of the space, as though it had finally been set free.
And then, just as quickly as it came, it snapped back into place, leaving the room in a suffocating silence, the aftermath of destruction hanging in the air.
====================================
The dust in the Scriptorium hung thick in the air as the ceiling groaned, cracking under the strain of the crumbling balcony. You could feel the tremors of the ancient magic coursing through you, a raw power that was not your own, nor fully under your control. The voice inside your head was insistent, relentless, its words like fire burning in your skull.
You can’t control this... You need dark magic to control it. Only then will you be able to harness this power.
Your body trembled violently as the voice echoed louder. The sharp sting of agony from the curse you'd taken earlier was a constant hum beneath everything—an insidious reminder of your helplessness.
“No!” you gasped, your chest heaving. You barely noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks as you fought to keep yourself grounded, but the voice… it was too strong. It had found its way into your mind, tainting your thoughts, pushing you toward something dark.
Your skin burned, as if fire was racing beneath it, crawling under your flesh, making you feel like you were being torn apart from the inside out. Every breath was sharp and ragged, each one laced with a pain that felt like it was suffocating you. You could feel the magic twisting through you, contorting your insides as the power surged, wrapping around your heart, threatening to crush it.
It wasn’t just physical pain—it was a gnawing, relentless pressure, like every part of you was fighting against something far bigger than you could understand. The air around you was suffocating, and the ground seemed to shift beneath you, adding dizziness to the agony already clouding your senses.
You need darkness to tame this. You’re too weak. It will consume you unless you embrace it.
Your hands shot up, desperately trying to pull at your robes, as if you could strip away the foreign presence creeping into your soul. You didn't know if it was the magic or the pain that had you shaking, but you couldn’t stop yourself from clawing at your arms, trying to rip the feeling away.
“Agh!” you cried, your voice strained, but the words weren’t enough to drown out the voice in your mind.
Ominis' hands were at your sides immediately, firm but gentle, trying to steady you. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, the touch warm against the coldness that had overtaken your skin. His face was drawn, strained, his breath quick as he struggled to understand what was happening to you, but his heart was full of nothing but concern.
“I’ve got you,” he urged softly, his voice laced with panic as he tried to keep your hands down, his own trembling. “Just breathe, I’ve got you right here.”
You could feel his presence, so close, but it wasn’t enough. The voice demanded more. You need darkness to control this. You’re nothing without it.
Sebastian stood at a distance, frozen, his gaze locked on the two of you. His eyes were wide, filled with a strange, awe-stricken wonder as he watched your struggle, his lips barely moving as he murmured under his breath.
"Untapped potential..." he muttered, his voice low, a hint of admiration lacing the words. "She has so much more than she knows."
Ominis whipped his head toward Sebastian, his breath ragged as he screamed, “Sebastian! Help me! She’s going to hurt herself—help me hold her down!”
For a moment, Sebastian didn’t respond, his gaze distant, lost in his own thoughts. Then, as if snapping back to reality, his face shifted, a strange light flashing in his eyes. He moved forward, his movements sharp and focused, though there was still an edge of hesitation to his steps.
"Right," he muttered, his voice cool but laced with urgency. "I’ll help. Hold on."
But Ominis didn’t hear Sebastian’s words clearly, not in that moment. His focus was entirely on you, on your frantic movements, on the way you fought against the agony and the power inside of you. He couldn’t let you fall deeper into it.
His grip tightened around your arms as you struggled, and he whispered, “Tell me what I can do, please.”
But the voice inside your head only grew louder, more insistent. It was suffocating, urging you toward darkness, promising control in exchange for everything else. Embrace it. Only then will you be free.
The pain intensified, a twisting, scorching fire that felt like it was ripping through every nerve in your body, making it feel like your skin was crawling off you. Your vision blurred as sweat dripped down your face, the heat unbearable. Your hands jerked again, desperate, and Ominis flinched as your fingers fought against his grip, your eyes wild with panic. "No, I don’t want it!" you cried out again, your voice cracking, the words barely audible through the rasp in your throat.
You could barely focus on the sound of Ominis' voice as he tried to calm you, his hands steadying yours, trying to keep you from tearing at yourself. Every second felt like it stretched into an eternity, the pain only becoming sharper, more intense, until it felt like your very bones were on fire.
Sebastian finally reached you, his movements frantic as he clambered over the rubble, his hands scraping against the broken stone in his haste. His breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, but the murmurs never stopped, a quiet stream of words spilling from his lips. He wasn’t looking at Ominis anymore, his focus entirely on you, as though he could see something no one else could. His hands briefly brushed against Ominis’ in the attempt to hold you down, but he didn’t seem to notice, his eyes gleaming with an almost unsettling fascination as they locked on you.
“She doesn’t know it yet... but she’s destined for so much more,” he whispered, barely audible, his voice low and distant. The words slipped from his mouth like a hidden truth, his admiration evident.
Ominis whipped his head back toward Sebastian, his heart racing as he screamed in desperation, "Sebastian, for Merlin’s sake, help me!" His voice cracked under the strain, but Sebastian didn’t respond immediately. He was still staring at you, lost in his fascination.
The agony that surged through you was relentless, but it wasn’t just the pain. It was the power—the uncontrollable, thrumming force within you—that began to pulse and crackle. With each wave of pain, it grew stronger, more erratic. You could feel it tearing at the very edges of your control, threatening to break free entirely. The walls around you trembled, the ancient stone groaning in protest as the Scriptorium seemed to quake, the ceiling cracking and fragments of stone tumbling down in a cascade of debris.
Ominis’ heart clenched as he felt the vibrations in the air, the magic spiralling dangerously out of control. “Look for the way out!” he barked at Sebastian, his voice strained and urgent. “Now! We don’t have much time!”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he moved with a speed born from desperation, his hands tightening on your arms as he pulled you into his grasp. You were so light in his arms, but the weight of the moment was crushing. Without a second thought, Ominis positioned you on his back, your weakened form slumped against him as he gripped his wand tightly, his only source of light in the chaos.
The Scriptorium was collapsing around them, the ancient wood of the bookshelves groaning and splintering as the power in the air surged higher. But Ominis didn’t hesitate. He focused on getting you out—away from here—and as he moved, the path forward became clearer in his mind, his senses sharp despite the madness surrounding them.
The rumble of the Scriptorium’s destruction echoed in his ears as he forced his body to move, your frail form on his back a reminder of everything he was trying to protect. “Hold on,” he whispered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear him. His mind raced, calculating every movement, every step.
But the world around them was a blur—flickering light, debris, crumbling stone—and Ominis couldn’t afford to look back. Not yet.
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Taglist (never done this before oh?):
@preeyas-world
Chapter 1 | Between Mercy & Malice
Pairing - Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader
Word Count - 4945
Content Warning - Lack of formatting? (someone help I beg) Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pain, Spiralling!Sebastian Sallow, Endearing Nicknames, Flashbacks, Ominis would burn down the world for you (and I love it), This is literally so self indulgent (I love yearning men)
Summary - Trapped in Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, you, Ominis Gaunt, and Sebastian Sallow are forced to make an unforgivable choice—one that will leave scars far deeper than magic itself.
Author's Summary; my version of getting to Slytherin's Scriptorium, but with a bit more angst. Chapter 1 of 4 (maybe)
A.N. - I stopped writing years ago, but I don't see enough love for my boy Ominis. I'm an Ominis-girly through and through. I have an idea of how this ends but we'll also see how I feel lol. Please review/comment - they feed my motivation. Also I did write this instead of my thesis so like pls let me know if it was actually worth it
====================================
The air was heavy. Thick with dust and something far worse.
It curled in your throat, the scent of rot lingering long after you had already taken your next breath. The walls of the Scriptorium stretched high above, their looming presence pressing down like unseen hands, and yet somehow, the space still felt suffocatingly small. The light from your wand barely reached beyond a few feet, casting long, flickering shadows that made the darkness seem alive.
The silence was deafening.
And then you saw her.
Aunt Noctua’s remains lay crumpled before the sealed door, her bony fingers still outstretched toward salvation that never came. Her tattered robes, once fine, were stiff with age, pooled around her skeletal frame in a final, undignified heap.
Your stomach twisted.
But it wasn’t just her remains that caught your attention—it was what surrounded them.
The word Crucio had been carved into the stone, deep enough that the grooves were still sharp despite time’s best efforts to wear them away. It was jagged, uneven—done with a shaking hand.
And beside her, a wand.
Snapped in two. The broken edges blackened and burnt. A sign of how many times she had tried. How many times she had forced herself to endure.
And still, it had not been enough.
A breath hitched beside you.
Ominis.
His face was unreadable, but his cloudy eyes—usually so guarded—gave him away. A deep crease had formed between his brows, his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. His pale irises, though sightless, moved as if trying to chase away the horrible images forming in his mind. His fingers twitched at his sides.
Sebastian stepped forward, his boots scraping against the stone. His gaze lingered on Noctua’s remains for only a moment before flicking toward the door. His expression hardened.
“So, this is it,” he murmured. “This is what happened to her.”
“She died here, Sebastian.” Ominis’ voice was quiet, but there was a tremor beneath it.
Sebastian didn’t look disturbed. He barely even looked concerned. “And do you know why?” His gaze flickered back to the word on the ground. “She hesitated. She wasted time. That’s why she—”
“That’s why what?” Ominis’ voice was razor-sharp.
Sebastian hesitated—only for a fraction of a second. “That’s why she didn’t make it,” he said, but something about the way he spoke made your skin crawl.
Ominis turned his head slightly. His expression darkened. “You pity her.” The words weren’t a question.
Sebastian scoffed. “I don’t—”
“You think she was weak.” Ominis’ breath came faster, something fraying at the edges of his composure. “You look at her, and you see someone who should have just gotten on with it, don’t you?”
Sebastian frowned. “Ominis—”
“Say it,” Ominis demanded, stepping forward. “Say what you’re really thinking.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw.
You could see the war in his head. He wanted to deny it. He knew he should deny it. But he didn’t believe it.
Ominis let out a slow, humourless laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
Sebastian’s expression flickered. Just for a second.
Then his face hardened. “I’m disgusting? You’re the one pretending she had a choice!” His voice was rising now, sharp with frustration. He gestured toward the word carved into the ground. “This was the way out. She knew it. And she still couldn’t do it.”
“Because she wasn’t a monster like you!” Ominis snapped.
The words cracked like a whip.
Sebastian’s expression darkened. His eyes held something dangerous, something wrong. His grip on his wand twitched.
“You’d rather we rot down here with her?” His voice dropped, quieter now, but far more dangerous. “You’d rather let Anne suffer, too?”
Ominis inhaled sharply.
You turned to Sebastian—really looked at him.
He was different. Paler. Sharper. His eyes were darker than they should have been, and there was something unsettling in the way he gripped his wand—his fingers twitching, restless.
Something was changing in him.
And Ominis saw it, too. He was gripping his own wand tightly, his knuckles pale. But he said nothing.
Sebastian took another step forward, closing the space between them. “I’m not going to let her suffer because you have a problem with what needs to be done.”
Ominis exhaled sharply through his nose. His shoulders rose—tensed—then, suddenly, he let out a slow breath.
The anger in his face faded.
Not into acceptance.
Into resignation.
“Fine,” he said.
Sebastian blinked. “Fine?”
Ominis straightened, tilting his chin up. “We cast it.”
A beat of silence.
Then, slowly, Sebastian smirked. “Finally. You’re—”
“But you will not touch her.”
Sebastian’s smirk faltered. His gaze flickered to you, then back to Ominis.
Ominis stepped closer. “You will curse me.”
Your breath hitched. “Ominis—”
His head turned slightly toward you. His brows furrowed, something tightening in his jaw. “I won’t let you take it.”
Sebastian exhaled sharply. “And you refuse cast it.”
“Exactly.” Ominis squared his shoulders. “That’s why you will do it. And you will listen to me. You will do it properly.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I know how to—”
“No, you don’t.” Ominis’ voice cut through the space like ice. “If you don’t mean it, it won’t work. If you hesitate, it will be worse.” He exhaled, voice dropping lower. “If you do it wrong, Merlin knows if you’ll be able to do it again.”
Sebastian didn’t respond.
Ominis took another breath. His hands trembled at his sides, but he didn’t step back.
“Do it right the first time.”
Sebastian lifted his wand.
Your heart pounded. You stepped forward before you even realized it. “Wait—”
Ominis turned sharply. “Stay out of this.”
You froze.
His expression was unreadable now, his pale eyes like ghostly embers in the dim light. His hands were still shaking.
But not from fear.
He was bracing himself.
Sebastian hesitated for only a second.
Then—
"Crucio."
====================================
You didn’t think.
You just did.
Before either of them could stop you, before Ominis could say another word, you threw yourself forward—toward him.
It was a desperate, instinctual movement. The force of it made your heart race as you curled your body around his, pushing him back with your arms, shielding him with your body—your back preparing to take the curse.
“Wait!” Ominis’ voice cracked, panicked and desperate, but it was too late.
Your eyes were already fixed on Ominis.
Sebastian hestitated. The curse shot from his wand with a violent crack.
The air itself seemed to bend, contort, twist around the curse as it rocketed toward you. The sound of it hitting the air was deafening—like a whip cracking, followed by a deep, unnerving hum of raw, unrelenting power.
But something was wrong.
The curse didn’t feel right.
The red lightning that arced from Sebastian’s wand was jagged—unnatural. It flickered in violent, erratic patterns, crackling around the room like it was searching for something to latch onto, something to devour.
It was more than just wrong. It was dangerous.
And then, in a flash of agonizing pain, it slammed into your back.
Your body seized.
It felt like the bones in your spine were being ripped out one by one. The pain spread, deep and searing, until every muscle in your body was burning. Your breath caught in your throat, suffocating you. It was like your entire body had been set alight from the inside, but the fire wasn’t the kind that could burn away your pain—it was the kind that tore you apart, piece by piece.
You couldn’t scream.
Your lungs refused to work.
The pain was suffocating. It pulled every breath from your body, leaving nothing but raw, unrelenting agony.
Your vision blurred. Every edge of your sight frayed and split, and the world seemed to distort around you.
But it was the sound that cut the deepest—the sound of your own voice, trying to scream, but only a horrible, strangled cry escaping your lips.
Ominis shouted something, but his voice was lost in the crackling chaos around you.
You could hear nothing but the storm that raged inside your chest, the writhing agony in your spine, the sickeningly sharp pain that seemed to dig deeper with every pulse of the curse.
Sebastian’s intent was wrong—too strong.
You felt the wrongness in every electric current that shot through your body.
Your back arched as if you were being pulled in two, the pain pulling you taut like a bowstring. The curse writhed, unrelenting, twisting deeper, tearing your insides apart with each vicious shock that sent ripples of red lightning across your vision. The crackling of the curse itself seemed to snap and crackle, like an unnatural storm roaring above you. It was as though the curse was alive—hunting you, tearing through you with no mercy, with no end.
You barely noticed Ominis’ frantic, shaking hands reaching for you, his fingers brushing against your arm. His touch was like fire, his body trembling violently with the effort to pull you away from the curse that was consuming you.
But it wasn’t enough.
The agony surged again, more intense than before, sending you collapsing forward, barely managing to keep yourself upright. Your entire body felt hollow. Numb. But the pain... the pain was far from over. It kept coming, wave after wave of agony so intense it felt like your body was splitting apart.
Your heart hammered. Your body screamed for mercy that would never come.
And still, Sebastian didn’t stop.
His expression was twisted, consumed by the power he had unleashed. His face was a grimace of frustration, his eyes locked on you—his focus now entirely on you, his rage growing with every second the curse refused to let go.
“Sebastian! Stop!” Ominis shouted again, but his voice was lost to the air around them.
Sebastian’s hand clenched tighter around his wand, his voice muttering curses under his breath, as though he couldn’t hear Ominis’ plea. His grip on the wand tightened, and the curse continued to pulse through with a brutal shock.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The pressure inside you was unbearable, but Sebastian was too far gone—he was too consumed by his own anger and frustration, too deep in the darkness of the curse he had cast.
Ominis’ eyes widened in realization.
His lips twisted into something tight and furious, and with a single, furious motion, he cast Depulso.
The force of it hit Sebastian’s chest like a cannonball, sending him stumbling backward with a sharp gasp. His wand slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, his concentration shattering as his wide eyes locked onto Ominis.
“What the hell, Ominis?” Sebastian growled, his confusion clear, his face flushed with irritation.
But Ominis didn’t care. His breathing was heavy, his anger clearly evident.
“What the hell? What do you mean ‘what the hell’? You just—” Ominis’ voice was strained, choked with fury as he stepped forward. “You nearly killed her, Sebastian. You—”
Sebastian blinked, still disoriented by the sudden force of the spell. “I—what? I was trying to—”
But Ominis wasn’t listening anymore.
His hands were shaking as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “Don’t you ever—” he started, but his voice cracked. His anger softened, replaced by something almost like desperation. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.”
Sebastian didn’t move, standing there with his eyes wide in confusion, his breath still ragged from his outburst. “Ominis… I didn’t mean—”
Ominis didn’t respond. His focus was on you now, his hand gently brushing the hair from your face, his eyes wild and desperate as he cradled you against him.
Sebastian’s face fell, realization starting to set in. He had pushed too far; gone too far down a path he was already walking.
But Ominis didn’t care for the explanation.
He was angry. Furious. Furious at Sebastian for the reckless violence of it all, furious at him for the danger he had almost put you in.
And he wasn’t willing to let it slide.
====================================
The stone wall rumbled with a low, deep groan, and then the crackling of ancient magic reverberated through the room. The wall split with a sharp, jagged sound, and the heavy stone blocks moved apart, revealing the passageway to Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium. Dark, swirling shadows pulsed from the newly revealed entrance, as though the very air itself shuddered with the raw magic that lingered in this forbidden space.
Sebastian’s attention snapped immediately to the opening, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. He began to step forward, but Ominis’ voice cut through the thick tension in the air like a whip.
“No.” The word was sharp, laced with a dangerous finality. His fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve, gripping tightly as though to keep you tethered to him. “We’re not going in there.”
Sebastian hesitated, confused. “What? We came here for this, Ominis. We’ve got to finish this. The Scriptorium is right there.”
Ominis’ breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. He could hear the desperation in Sebastian’s voice, but it only made his stomach twist further. His pulse quickened as he glanced down at you, the pain still evident in your features, and he cursed under his breath. His voice shook, though he tried to mask it with force.
“You’ve done enough,” Ominis spat, his words sharp like the crack of a whip. His grip tightened around your arm, and he shifted closer to you, his fingers trembling slightly. The sight of you still reeling from the curse gnawed at him. The fury swirled inside him, growing with every second.
Then, you stirred—slightly, as if to push yourself up, to stand despite the searing pain still running through your body. You grimaced, trying to brush it off as if you were okay, but the effort failed you. A strangled grunt escaped your throat, and your hands clenched at your side. The force of the agony made tears spring to your eyes, a sob escaping before you could stop it. Your body shook, unable to bear the pressure of movement.
Ominis’ breath caught in his throat. His heart clenched at the sight of you trying to push through the pain. His expression twisted into something fierce, though it quickly softened as he moved closer, his hands steadying you.
“Don’t.” Ominis’ voice was rough, but it softened slightly as he worked to soothe you, his fingers brushing over your skin with a care that belied his rage. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me?”
The touch of his hand on your forehead was almost too gentle for the force in his voice. His trembling fingers continued their delicate path across your skin, the contrast stark against the fury that burned behind his eyes. He could feel the raw heat of your pain beneath the cloth, and it only fuelled the fire inside him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he repeated, his words steady despite the storm raging inside him. “We’re not moving from here until you’re able.”
Sebastian, who had watched the exchange with growing concern, stepped forward once more, though his face was still clouded with confusion.
“I’m trying to help,” Sebastian said, his voice losing some of its earlier certainty, a bit of doubt creeping into his tone. He started to take a step forward, but Ominis immediately tensed.
“No,” Ominis snarled, his voice thick with barely contained fury. “You’re not helping, Sebastian. You’ve done enough.” His grip tightened around your arm, and he shifted closer to you, his fingers trembling slightly. The anger twisted within him, made more potent by his fear—fear of losing you, fear of what Sebastian’s recklessness had done to you.
He cast a quick glance at the newly opened stone doorway, his mind working furiously. He could feel the cold, oppressive magic of the scriptorium creeping through the air, but he couldn’t focus on that now. You needed him.
His hand snapped into his pocket, his fingers brushing over his handkerchief. With a muttered incantation, water erupted from the tip of his wand, and he quickly conjured a steady stream of it onto the fabric. Holding it against his trembling hand, he pressed the cool cloth to your forehead with a delicate touch.
Sebastian, watching from a distance, seemed to struggle with the unfolding situation. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing together in frustration. He opened his mouth to protest, but then his gaze flicked to the scriptorium again. The door, still open, seemed to beckon. There was no denying the pull of it, the promise of answers hidden within those darkened walls. But then his gaze slid back to Ominis—saw the fury in his posture, the raw emotion radiating from him. For the first time, a hint of uncertainty crossed his face.
Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to compose himself. His voice dropped to something a little lighter, though the edge of urgency remained. “Hey, come on, you’ve got to admit, we’ve come this far. We can’t just turn back now, right?” He flashed a small, almost amused smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll help you, and we’ll sort this out together, yeah? The Scriptorium’s right there.”
He started to take a step closer to you, his hand outstretched, as though trying to coax you into moving with him, like nothing had happened. His tone was light, trying to make it sound easy—like you could simply walk into the scriptorium and leave the pain behind.
Before Sebastian could take another step, Ominis was already moving, quickly shifting from his position on the floor. His grip on your arm tightened, and with a forceful but careful motion, he lifted your head onto his rolled-up robe, using it as a cushion. His expression darkened as he placed himself in between you and Sebastian, his body tense, his blind eyes narrowing with barely concealed anger. His breath was shallow, his entire demeanour radiating a storm of emotion.
“You’re not going near her,” Ominis hissed, his voice dangerously low. His wand flicked, and its tip was aimed straight at Sebastian, a warning—sharp and unyielding.
Sebastian stared at Ominis for a long, tense moment, before smirking lightly. “Or else what?”
Ominis’ grip on his wand tightened, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the wood. The tension in the air thickened, and his jaw clenched. He knew that if Sebastian pushed further, the situation would escalate beyond words, beyond warnings. The frustration—and something far more dangerous—radiated from Ominis as he stared down at Sebastian.
Ominis stepped forward, rising from his crouch, his body broad and solid despite his lean build. His height loomed over Sebastian, though the other boy was far more muscular. Still, Ominis had the advantage of reach and anger. His stance was one of quiet threat, every inch of his body vibrating with raw emotion. He towered over Sebastian, his blind eyes dark and sharp, betraying none of the hesitation that once might have softened his words.
His voice dropped low, the tension in his chest tight, his words a sharp warning. “Don’t ever try me again. You’ve done enough, Sebastian. Now stay the hell away from her.”
Sebastian’s face flickered with a mix of frustration and confusion. He took a half-step back, looking Ominis over, then back at the girl lying behind his friend. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his jaw tightened as he met Ominis’ unwavering gaze. He opened his mouth to retort but shut it again with a huff, clearly seeing that Ominis was beyond the point of reason.
Ominis didn’t give him another chance to argue. He stepped fully between Sebastian and you, his stance firm, his wand still held at the ready. “I won’t let you drag her into this any further,” he snarled, his voice trembling with the heat of anger. “Not while I’m still standing.”
The air was thick with tension as Ominis stared down at Sebastian, his wand unwavering. His gaze was a silent threat, an unspoken promise that anyone who tried to get closer to you would find themselves facing the full force of Ominis Gaunt’s fury.
Sebastian stared up at Ominis, unflinching, his eyes scanning the tall, lean figure of his friend—his once-trusted companion—who now stood between him and the girl they both cared about. His lips curled into a smirk, though there was no real humour in it. He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as he took in the storm brewing in Ominis’ posture. The space between them felt thick, charged with something far more volatile than the air around them.
“Or else what?” Sebastian asked, his voice light, though there was a hint of sarcasm that laced his words, as though he didn’t take Ominis’ threat seriously. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back slightly, a mocking glint in his eyes, trying to mask the unease that was beginning to creep in. “You really think you can stop me? I’m your friend, Ominis. You think this is about you and me now? Is this really the hill you want to die on?”
Ominis didn’t move at first. His wand was steady, the tip pointed directly at Sebastian as though it were a warning, but it wasn’t just the wand. It was everything about Ominis: the tense, broad set of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate way he stepped forward. The anger was practically visible, swirling around him like a storm, but it was more than that—it was disappointment that clawed at Ominis’ insides. It made him feel sick. It made his heart ache with the need to protect you.
Sebastian’s smirk faltered slightly as Ominis took that step forward, towering over him despite the smaller, more solid frame of Sebastian. The two of them were different—Ominis was taller, leaner, his body not as physically imposing as Sebastian’s, but there was no doubt Ominis had the upper hand in sheer presence right now. His rage seemed to fill the space between them, suffocating and heavy.
Sebastian let out a small, sarcastic laugh, though it lacked the bite it might’ve had just moments ago. He shifted slightly on his feet, clearly trying to read Ominis, sizing him up, as if searching for a way to defuse the tension or maybe to call his bluff.
“Oh, I see,” Sebastian said, his tone still light but now laced with a touch of defiance. “You think you can just stand there and stop me because I’ve upset you?” He raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that it? Ominis Gaunt, the one who always plays it so carefully, so calmly... suddenly making threats?”
The air between them crackled with rising tension as Ominis didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact. The depth of his silence spoke volumes, and Sebastian could feel the shift in the atmosphere—something darker, something more dangerous. He was still sizing Ominis up, but there was a distinct shift in his own stance now, his feet planted firmly. He was calculating, watching for any sign of hesitation. Still, he refused to be intimidated, refusing to show weakness.
But Ominis was unwavering. He took another step, his voice low, dangerous, vibrating with emotion. “Don’t.” It was more of a growl than a word. “You’ve done enough already, Sebastian.”
Sebastian's confident façade cracked just slightly. He was used to being the one in control, the one who took risks and challenged anyone who stood in his way. But there was something about the way Ominis stood, his posture firm, his blind eyes dark with something like fury that made Sebastian falter—just for a moment.
Still, Sebastian’s smirk didn’t disappear entirely. He was used to the tension, to the games they played, but this... this felt different. The intensity in Ominis’ gaze, the way the wand trembled ever so slightly in his hand—Sebastian could feel the rawness of it, the bite of the anger that Ominis had been holding back for far too long.
“You’re still my friend, Ominis,” Sebastian said, his voice softer now, but the sarcasm remained. He half-expected Ominis to lash out, to say something cruel, to give in to the storm within him—but Ominis didn’t. He just stood there, staring at him with such intensity that it felt like a challenge.
The silence between them grew, thickening with every passing moment. Sebastian felt his heart rate pick up slightly, though he didn’t let it show. He could tell Ominis was no longer just angry. There was something else—something more desperate, more personal. It was the same rage he’d seen in his friend’s eyes when something mattered so much, when it threatened the very core of what they’d once shared.
But Sebastian wasn’t backing down. He stood his ground, meeting Ominis’ unyielding gaze with a spark of defiance in his own eyes. He wanted to say more, to press Ominis to understand that they couldn’t just stop, but there was something in the way Ominis’ body was now squared against him—something in the air that made Sebastian pause, just for a moment. The tension was suffocating, a silent battle between their wills, between their understanding of what needed to happen next.
And then Ominis spoke again, his voice calm but dripping with authority.
“Stay the hell away from her,” he said, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You’re not needed here anymore, Sebastian.”
It was a threat, sure, but it was also an ultimatum. The meaning was clear. Ominis wasn’t about to let Sebastian anywhere near you, not while you were in this state, not while he could feel every fibre of his being screaming to keep you safe.
Sebastian didn’t move for a long moment, his gaze flicking over Ominis, reading him as if searching for weakness. But there was none to find. Instead, there was only the raw intensity in Ominis’ stance, the surety in his voice. And for the first time, Sebastian realized that Ominis wasn’t bluffing. There was no hesitation anymore. This wasn’t the same Ominis who had kept quiet and followed Sebastian’s lead. This was someone who was willing to fight for you—someone who had already decided where his loyalty lay.
Sebastian swallowed hard, but he didn’t back down. His smirk faded, and for a moment, he looked... unsure. A brief flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came.
The silence between them grew, and Sebastian, ever the one to break it with barbed words, leaned in slightly, his voice lighter, but with that unmistakable edge of provocation. “Once a Gaunt, always a Gaunt, right?” He let out a small, dry chuckle, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “All that noble blood running through your veins—just like them. It’s no surprise you’d turn out like this, is it? Condescending, self-righteous, always looking down on the rest of us.”
The words stung, though Sebastian’s voice was too casual for it to seem like anything more than a jab—one that had been waiting to be thrown for some time. His eyes were fixed on Ominis, watching for any sign of a reaction. He knew how to push, how to prod, how to expose the cracks beneath the surface of a person who had been raised with such heavy expectations. Ominis’ family wasn’t just a name—it was a curse, and Sebastian knew it, could see it written in every movement, every word Ominis had ever said.
But Ominis didn’t flinch. Not yet. His grip on his wand tightened, his hand shaking ever so slightly, though his posture remained unnervingly calm.
Sebastian took another step forward, his eyes glittering with that old sense of challenge. “Or are you just trying to surpress the Gaunt in you? Trying to protect the helpless one, because your family would never let you do anything else. Always playing the saviour, aren’t you? Always overcompensating for something rooted deep into you.”
Ominis’ breath hitched slightly, his jaw tightening at the insinuation. His hands clenched into fists, the weight of the accusation sinking into his chest. He could feel the blood rushing to his ears, the heat of anger rising in him like a wave.
But it was more than anger now. It was something else, something deeper. Something born from the years of having that name pressed upon him, of carrying the weight of what his family stood for. The endless expectations. The suffocating belief that he was meant for something darker. And now, here was Sebastian—poking at the old wounds, making it sting once more.
“I’m nothing like them,” Ominis muttered, his voice low, barely above a whisper. But there was a steeliness behind it now, a promise. “I won’t be like them.”
The tension between them thickened, wrapping around both of them like an invisible barrier, each word adding more weight to the words that had been left unspoken for far too long.
Sebastian’s lips twisted into a smirk, his words sharper now, digging deeper. “Sure, Ominis. Keep telling yourself that. But in the end, you’re just as much a Gaunt as they were.”
Ominis’ grip tightened on his wand, and he took a step forward, the movement slow but deliberate, his body a line of unyielding tension. “You know nothing about me,” he ground out, every word laced with fury.
Sebastian paused, a small flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he didn’t back down. “Maybe not,” he said with a shrug, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “But I’ve seen enough to know where your loyalties lie.”
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