Chapter Text
He had heard about the Sallows. Usually it was through the pinched lips of his mother, the sound of disdain playing upon her voice, while warning her children against marrying into lesser families.
The woman in question was an Avery you see, one of the twenty eight pureblooded families in England. Like a bitch in heat, the woman saw fit to abandon her status - and thus her family fortune - to whelp bastards with some Scottish oaf of questionable pedigree.
He remembered asking Sebastian himself if he was a bastard - an off-handed question whilst sitting quietly in their shared Common Room one evening- and the boy just laughed in his face. "Yes," the boy had said, oddly delighted, "the most roguish of bastards. You make sure to tell everyone."
He wasn't friends with them or anything, they seemed rather busy and concerned with themselves, but it was hard to ignore the commotion that always kicked up around them.
Usually his fellow dumbfounded First Years were quiet and timid, making way for the older students as they took the year to get themselves acquainted - not so with the Sallow twins. They acted as though they had owned the place, and in their arrogance - surprisingly more abundant than what their shared house was famous for - they often found themselves under the ire of others.
But they didn't care. They would laugh, and joke, and find it all terribly funny. He thinks he ought to be annoyed by them. He was annoyed by them. Well, the idea of them anyways - aside from that night he had unwittingly thrown an insult Sebastian's way (he wasn't aware that the word 'bastard' was offensive, it's use so casual when speaking of others families back home) - he hadn't really spoken to them at all.
Ominis stayed meek. He stayed quiet. It was expected of him, first as a new student, but secondly because any ire that did find him was usually of the violent sort. He was used to it at home, and was unsurprised that it had followed him here.
It was his lot in life. Always had been. He was 'weak flesh' after all, as his brother Marvolo was fond of reminding him. He was born broken, and since no spell would ever allow him to see, he would remain as such.
They hated him - the muggle born wizards and witches. They remembered the vitriol his brother would spout, the terror he would dole out to them, or to their siblings, or their friends.
Marvolo had graduated some time ago, but the ghost of his deeds still haunted the halls, the shadow of which lingered in the hate filled eyes of his victims.
When they learned that a new Gaunt had enrolled - a blind, sickly looking boy - they had licked their chops in anticipation of getting a taste of their vengeance. Shame for them though, that were Marvolo to know of the abuse issued to his baby brother, he would likely be immensely pleased. A pureblood abused by his lessers was no pureblood at all, afterall.
He tried to stick to himself, tried to blend in with his surroundings, but there was no helping the peculiar way he navigated the corridors, or read a book, wand pointed out to guide him - to 'see' .
"That's a pretty nifty trick you got there. What spell are you using?" He heard a voice call over to him - a girl's - and he frowned.
"It's not a trick, and it's not a spell." He said firmly, not wishing to be scrutinized like the awkward thing that he was. He just wanted to read his book alone, in peace.
He heard the girl huff with good humor. The cushion beside him dipped down as she edged into his space, the proximity making him wince.
"Well what book are you reading?" She asked casually, bending forward to get a good look at the title.
He struggled to keep from whipping it away out of sight. "I-it's nothing." He stammered out, embarrassment rattling his voice.
"An anthology of poetry?" She asked, sounding surprised.
Ominis felt his face grow hot, shame coiling thickly in his belly. He was often berated by the males in his family, for occupying himself with such 'feminine' reading material. He tried to save face, not having the stamina to be subjected to teasing at the moment, "No- I mean, yes -but it's just-"
"Oh! I do so love poetry." She interrupted, voice taking on an airy quality, "My brother teases me endlessly - calls me a fluff head. It's not my fault he lacks good taste and imagination." He could hear the pout in her voice as she huffed out and jostled beside him. "Besides, not all poetry is romantic - if he actually took the time I think he could appreciate someone like Tennyson's references to war and death."
He felt his brows rise up in surprise, "You read muggle poetry?" The words had barely left his mouth before he winced, realizing his mistake too late. Though the voice sounded somewhat familiar, like he had heard it plenty of times in passing, he wasn't sure who he was speaking to- could be a muggleborn girl that he just insulted. He'd hate to add another enemy to his growing list.
"Well, why not? Art is art regardless of who's brush makes the strokes." She said simply, as though no insult were taken, "Oh sorry…well wait, you can read through wand, can you see portraiture and paintings too?"
Ominis frowned, feeling nervous to have another take such interest in him. Sure, there were plenty of people whose curiosity had gotten the best of themselves - usually just off-handedly remarking upon his use of wand to 'see'. But no other students had asked him the details, nor took the time to speak with him for more than just a few harried sentences.
"No. Just…books and people. Like the outlines of people? Um, details - like features - are beyond me." He said quietly, setting his book beside him.
She hummed, "So it's like a constant Homenum Revelio - fascinating." She added brightly, "Brother will be amazed to hear."
"What-"
"Oh! It's a charm that reveals human presence - a variation of 'revelio' . I don't think they teach variations until third year though."
"No I mean, who did you say your brother was again?" He really didn't need a cross elder brother breathing down his neck on top of all the other problems he had to deal with.
He could hear her suck in a bit of air, "You know, you just seem so terribly normal that I keep on forgetting - you probably don't even realize who it is you're speaking with right now, do you?" She chuckled, before grabbing one of his free hands (making him flinch) and shaking it emphatically, "Anne. Anne Sallow."
Ominis's eyes widened in mortification. One of the Sallow twins? He had… stupidly - exceedingly stupidly - committed the social faux pas of insulting her brother to his face. He blanched.
He heard her laugh, "Cat got your tongue? I'm sure this is the part where you introduce yourself."
He coughed, "Uh, yes, I'm Ominis…Gaunt. Ominis Gaunt." He flushed at the feeling of her gaze upon him.
"Well alright, Ominis Gaunt ." Her emphasis on his name made him internally panic- did she know about his family's reputation? Would she be upset? "I'll be seeing you - don't be a stranger - we're poetry friends now, kindred spirits, birds of a feather, et cetera." She said cheerfully as she made to stand and left him to his own devices.
That was…strange. What an odd girl.
'-we're poetry friends now'
'You know, you just seem so terribly normal'
His face darkened in suspicion. No one ever went out of their way to say kind things to him. Surely she wanted something - to tease him, or trick him.
Ominis Gaunt may be of broken, weak flesh, but he wasn't a fool.
Sebastian Sallow was an absolute terror - but not to Ominis - to anyone brazen enough to pose a threat to him.
Ominis hated it. He didn't want to be the center of their fussing - never asked to be coddled or 'saved' or treated as a type of invalid in need of rescuing. Yes, sure, his combative wand work was abysmal - on par with your average First Year - but his pride still turned sour on his tongue, face burning scarlet with embarrassment over being made to feel as weak as his brother had always insisted he was.
Sebastian would just snort and shrug his shoulders, uncaring towards Ominis's continuous protests, "Who says I'm saving you?" He would remark smugly, "I just simply like a good row. It's good for my reputation - how else am I to get the word out that I'm to be the greatest duelist this school has ever seen?"
And so the boy had just about stalked him - had started using Ominis as bait to draw out more combatants.
And always on his heels was his twin sister - that strange girl who had declared a friendly kinship with him - her sonorous laughter ringing out in delight when Sebastian would flip another one of his harassers onto their behinds, before 'petrifying' them."
"Anne, what number am I on now?" He would call out excitedly, pride towards felling a fourth year swelling in his voice.
"Hm, your third one this week - last week you had five under your belt by now."
"Well, damn."
"Will you people just leave me be?!" Ominis hissed in irritation, feeling exhausted by the perpetual debacle that hounded his every step.
He 'saw' their figures eye one another, before they both answered with a blunt and resolute, "No."
He gnashed his teeth in vexation, "Can't you idiots go play vigilante for some other sad sap? Or do you feel particularly sorry for the pathetic blind boy stumbling his way through the halls?"
Sebastian's figure folded his arms as if in disdain, and Anne's rubbed at her chin before remarking, almost casually, "You're being stupid."
He felt as though his eyes would pop from his skull, "P-pardon me?!" He stammered out, outraged. Nobody calls a Gaunt stupid to their faces - nobody.
"Well, you are." She said plainly, "You don't stumble. You walk positively normal from behind. Wouldn't even know you were blind if I didn't look hard enough. And secondly - you're one of us. Comes with the territory." She turned towards Sebastian then, "Brother, shall I hex our Fourth Year fiend to send a message?"
"Naturally, it's our signature." He toed the prone Fourth Year, whose eyes went wide in horror, "Hm, how about a Bat Bogey Hex?"
"That one's boring - ooh! I've just read about Densaugeo , can I try it out?" She asked merrily.
"Well that seems like an absolutely fine idea!"
Ominis flapped his arms out in exasperation- the nerve of these two ! They were just ignoring him now, ignoring his command to leave, to let him to his own devices, to handle his own problems and abusers. Being broken - being alone was his lot in life.
'-you're one of us. Comes with the territory.'
'-we're poetry friends now'
'You know, you just seem so terribly normal'
He felt his eyes well up and burn in embarrassment. Why…why wouldn't they just leave him alone?
"Miss and Mr. Sallow!" Came the loud, exasperated sigh from the school's Potion's Master, Professor Sharp, "What is it exactly that you think you're doing right now?"
Anne whipped up from her task, flinching, and Sebastian spread his arms out wide, "Just some extracurricular practice, Professor."
The man's figure raked a hand over his face, "All of you - with me. Mr. Gaunt I insist you follow along too." His voice was a flat, displeased thing that surely betrayed the frown upon his face, "If you've need of extracurricular work, you should've just asked - twenty four inches of lines ought to keep you three occupied."
Sebastian groaned in objection, "But professor, the Fourth Year-" he was silenced by his twin elbowing him in his side, her figure flipping her fingers in front of her lips in the gesture of buttoning them. He sighed, "Alright."
And so Ominis served his first ever sentence of detention. Wonderful .
Usually, he wrote essays and notes in class with charmed quill, his wand and mind guiding it along to produce what he had wanted to impart. Not so now, as his hand shakily scratched the ingredients for a simple cure to boils over and over again down the length of parchment. He wasn't even sure if it was straight, or overlapping upon his previous words. It made him grind his teeth in vexation. He was going to be here all day - will be the last one to leave.
This was all their fault.
He fingered his wand and felt a pulse of vision stir in his mind - Sebastian was hunched over, his fist a pillar to support his head as he scribbled his lines, and Anne-
Anne was swaying to a little tune she quietly hummed to herself. Her feet absently kicked beneath her table, as she would scratch a line here and there, face periodically turning to inspect her work.
Sharp huffed from the front of the room, "You seem to be enjoying yourself far too much Miss Sallow."
She jolted slightly, as though her little bubble were popped. "Oh sorry Professor, but my father always said we must take the situations we find ourselves in and make the best of them. You see-" she held up her parchment, delight singing in her voice, "my calligraphy is coming along swimmingly!"
Idiot , Ominis thought, stunned by her capacity to remain so flippant during punishment.
He was shocked to hear their Professor snort in mild amusement, "Well Miss Sallow, you're right on that - how about you take the time to practice upon twenty-four more inches then?"
Sebastian's form doubled over his parchment, a wet sound of muted laughter escaping his lips as he silently shook - as though he thought it all a grand joke. These people were insane.
"Oh…" Anne murmured dejectedly, her form deflating, "Alright Professor Sharp. I'm sorry."
They sat in silence for what felt like hours, the only sound between them the scratching of their quills. Sebastian had finished first, departing with the sound of a bright smile in his words as he addressed Sharp and left.
Ominis's hand started cramping, unused to physically writing, especially at length. He felt the bottom of it bump the edge of his parchment, indicating that he must be done. He took it over to Sharp's desk and deposited it, a contrite look apology on his face, "I'm sorry Professor," he said sincerely, "it won't be happening again."
Sharp inspected his paper, before nodding, "See that it doesn't Mr. Gaunt."
As he made his way to the door, he heard another chair scrape against the floor as Anne bounded over to leave her lines with Sharp as well. "Thank you for being so understanding Professor!" She curtsied - what was with her?! - and after an annoyed wave of Sharp's hand she closely followed behind him.
When they were in the hallway, Ominis felt her grab his arm, freezing him to his spot, as she fisted a folded piece of parchment into his hand.
"See you around Ominis!" She said brightly as she passed him by.
He grimaced. What was it that she handed him? He almost wanted to toss it away, like a cursed item that burned his hand. Instead he fought with himself for a brief moment, before pocketing it and trudging his way back to their common room.
Sometime later, after finishing some schoolwork, he took residence in his normal lonely spot in a darkened corner of the Common Room. He unfurled the parchment she had given him, and tapped his wand upon it's surface.
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show!
Then thou would'st at last discover
'Twas not well to spurn it so.
He frowned - what in the blazes was this supposed to be about? It was a poem, obviously, and probably not her own, as he had strong doubt that she could possibly ever pen something so masterful. Was she trying to say something to him?
Farewell? Unforgiving? Was she finally writing him off? He pinched his lips in consternation, not really knowing what to think of the message.
He should be glad right? If she were washing her hands of him…he had asked her and her brother to do so - but why did he feel so forlorn? Why did he feel a slight naggling sense of loss ache throughout his chest?
He flipped the parchment over, inspecting it too:
"Just a joke between friends!" It read brightly, and his mind stuttered over something else, something his wand couldn't parse out - maybe a drawing of sorts? It continued: "You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily did you? Oh! If you've a mind to try muggle poetry, read Lord Byron. He's my favorite! Till we meet again, -Anne."
A small smile lifted at the corner of his mouth. He guessed he wouldn't be rid of them so soon afterall.
He had kept in touch with the Sallow twins quite a bit over the summer, which surprised him. He never had a pen pal before - well…never really had any friends - so he was slightly stunned to see that everytime he had sent a letter, he would receive one in return almost immediately.
They were almost entirely penned by Anne, who was an avid enjoyer of writing, and she would either dictate Sebastian's words to him, or let him scrawl his own sloppy commentary down by the bottom, or in the margins - the latter of which often made reading by wand an awkward venture.
She had even sent him a gift through the mail once, something he had hidden away from the rest of his family's prying eyes. A weathered old copy of Lord Byron's most famous poetry.
There was a reason why Ominis Gaunt was fascinated by the more flowery use of the written language - he could not see art, could not see color, nor faces, nor the sky. When people would try and describe these things to him, they were usually woefully inept at imparting the secrets that the physical world often denied to him.
But poetry…that was something he could digest. It was an art that he could 'see'. Almost like a window into something that nearly everyone else seemed to take for granted. And the good poets - they were so masterful with their words that he could almost imagine what they were describing within the recesses of his mind.
One night, he cracked open his secret book beneath the covers, relishing in the fact that he needed no light to read by, and thus further eluding any chance his family would discover his muggle poetry. He selected a piece at random:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Light and dark. All he could ever perceive was darkness. But he knew the warm feeling of the sun upon his skin, the warmth of a fireplace after taking on a chill, and the soothing effect of shade at the height of summer. He knew light and dark by the physical aspects they manifested upon his skin.
And he knew the difference of a clear and cloudy night as well - how pleasantly warm and gentle an evening can be, when the world quiets down, when he could finally retire away from his family.
But…eyes can hold these properties as well? He was told they were reflective, that you can see parts of the world in them, like colorful little spherical mirrors, and that you can also see a part of a person's soul held within their depths.
He was at a loss. And honestly it made him feel terribly aware of just how much he was missing out on. He could only glean the character of a person's soul through the sound of their voice. It wasn't fair that a whole other aspect to them was forever denied to him.
He sighed and closed the book shut. Well…he didn't think he liked Byron afterall. Anne would be disappointed.
When he had said as much through his letter, she had seen fit to sternly correct him: no, it wasn't just the woman's eyes he writes of, but her character as well. She rewrote the line: Meet in her aspect and her eyes. In her aspect. The woman in the poem also had a nature of light and darkness that one could perceive beyond expression alone.
Oh. He didn't realize he glossed over that detail.
That was actually quite impressive to him. He supposed he would give the poet another chance.