Chapter Text
Starts after Chapter 9 in What the Shadows Made Us
Ominis’ POV:
“I understand your family is quite proud.” Miss Turner’s words linger uncomfortably in my mind. Sebastian, oblivious to such subtleties, didn’t notice the undercurrent in her tone. I caught it instantly. The Gaunt name rarely fails to precede me, and it was clear that neither my family nor I were to her taste. The mere mention of Solas was enough to send a chill down my spine. I make a point of steering clear of him at the Ministry. What few realize is that I have not spoken to my family since the day I left home after my final year at Hogwarts.
I had let her hand hang in the air, letting the awkwardness settle between us, before returning her handshake. If Miss Turner insists on likening me to my family, she may as well feel the discomfort reserved for snakes. I expected the usual wave of pity to radiate from her when she realized my handicap, but there was nothing. Her composure was impenetrable. That, I must admit, was curious. Still, I could not afford her the space in my thoughts. Not with Florence barreling through this case, and Sebastian cloaking himself in secrets yet again.
Sebastian imagines himself clever, but the truth is, Anne, Florence, and he are all I have left of a proper family. Anne and Florence have never bothered to hide how they feel. Their emotions are open books to me, as plain as day. Sebastian was once able to mask his feelings, but I have learned the cadence of his unease, the slight shifts in his tone, the restless edge. For years I allowed him his privacy, hoping he’d come to terms with everything that happened with Solomon and Anne in his own time. Lately, he is constantly on edge, as if bracing for another storm.
With the last of the Husk case notes gathered, I navigate the familiar path to Mr. Potter’s office, documents in hand. The sharp tap of footsteps reaches me first, followed by an unmistakable blend of cherry, tobacco, and vanilla threading through the air. It seems fate delights in conjuring devils the moment they cross my thoughts.
“Miss Turner,” I acknowledge her presence with a nod in her general direction.
“Mr. Gaunt, have I made such a memorable impression that you can already recognize me?” she asks bluntly. Salazar’s tongue, has she no sense of decorum? Despite myself, I feel my cheeks flush.
“Your perfume is unmistakable,” I reply, immediately regretting my candor. No doubt she’ll interpret it as some awkward attempt at flattery. Unwilling to linger in vulnerability, I add, “And you walk with the subtlety of a Graphorn.”
“Oh, don’t tell Sirona. She’s always boasting that she chose my signature scent. She does have exquisite taste, and it would only further inflate her ego. Sadly, while she can pick a fragrance, she can’t teach me her graceful walk. I move with purpose.” Does Sirona consider this woman one of her friends? It would seem her judgment is not infallible after all.
“I didn't realize you two are close.”
“I like to think we are, though perhaps not as close as we once were.” I wait for any shift in the color surrounding her. My wand acts as a form of echolocation, giving me a sense of shapes and outlines. Occasionally, people’s outlines seem to shimmer with color, shifting with their emotions. Yet she remains colorless. The outline of Mr. Potter’s office door makes its way into my radius as I sense the doorknob.
“Is my company truly that riveting? Or perhaps you have some actual business with Mr. Potter. If not, do be so kind as to take your leave. Some of us have work to do, shocking as that might be.”
“Ah, that’s exactly the kind of response I’d expect from a Gaunt. No need to send me away, I do have business with Mr. Potter.” Her words are filled with disdain, the name Gaunt uttered like a curse. She clearly despises our family. She was in the same year as my brother Solas and now works alongside him. I have no doubt he intensified her loathing for us. Knowing his cruelty, I can only wonder what he did to earn her hatred. She may have also crossed paths with my oldest brother, Marvolo.
"I merely need a moment with Mr. Potter to deliver these documents. As it appears our paths will continue to cross, I’ll be direct. Do not mistake me for a Gaunt. If you must find fault with me, let it be for who I am now, not for the family I’ve left behind." I open the door and place the documents on Mr. Potter’s desk, briefly informing him that it’s everything we have on the case. Without another word, I move past her, eager to escape the presence of such an exasperating woman. Encounters like this, disdain simply because of my family, are a stark reminder that there will always be more. This is a burden I will carry for the rest of my miserable existence.