Ominis Gaunt has always believed his best friend's sister would never look twice at someone who was blind. But when Anne's life is in danger, he has to stake a claim to what he wants, or watch as the person he cares for most slips right through his...
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Victorian England, 1880
Why was it that whenever his friend got himself into a bind, he was the one who had to dig him out of the pit of his own stupidity?
What was it this time? Sneaking into the restricted section of the library? Filling the fountain with chocolate toads? Enchanting the suits of armor around the castle to tell inappropriate jokes?
Ominis Gaunt lifted his wand in the air, listening as the quiet hum of his magic rushed through him in the darkness and guided him forward when his blindness otherwise obscured the world around him. The magic silently warned him of his obstacles. Five stairs here. A statue against the wall there. Another student rounding the bend.
It never failed to act as his eyes. Not even during a duel.
He tipped his head to the side as he listened to a dozen pairs of feet passing by, and the shrill voice of a teacher explaining Hogwarts's rules as they went... First years, no doubt. He recalled a similar orientation when he'd first started as a student five years ago.
As a fifth-year Slytherin, he had plenty of magic practice under his belt. And before that...
His heart hardened to steel at the thought of his family. His belovedly cruel, pure-blood family that could rot in their fancy manor for all he cared.
The magic in his wand warned him too late as he tripped over an obstacle in his path. He attempted to catch himself on the nearby banister, but a pair of hands shoved him in the shoulder. He crashed onto his hands and knees, his wand skittering out of reach.
Laughter resounded on all sides of him. He balled his hands into fists in his lap.
"Accio wand," he murmured. But his wand didn't fly back into his hand. It was trapped.
Somewhere.
"Filthy Slytherin trash," a male voice said somewhere to his left. "No wonder you were born blind. Cursed for being a direct descendant of Salazar himself."
"What was that, you Ravenclaw waste of space?" his friend Sebastian's voice echoed in the corridor to his right. "Say that a little louder. I dare you."
