Franz Liszt
S. 172: No. 3, Lento Placido, Consolations
S. 541: No. 3 in A-Flat Major, Liebestraume
S. 144: No. 3 in D-Fat Major, Un Sospiro
Ominis
He slammed the keys of the braille typewriter, each strike erupting in a maddening, sharp click that grated his nerves. Why on earth couldn't they design one that wasn't so infuriatingly loud? He was blind, not deaf.
He had been attempting to focus on his report for his History of Magic class. Professor Fitzgerald had kindly allowed him to stay and study despite having found him asleep at his desk earlier that day. He often wondered how anyone could manage to stay awake during the professor's lectures. He discovered that learning became much less painfully tedious when it was not delivered by a dull and uninspiring instructor.
His professors have been increasing their workload in preparation for the O. exams at the end of the year. While most of his classmates were already in bed or sneaking off for late-night rendezvous, he was diligently studying.
Even his best friend, Sebastian, has been slacking off instead of preparing for one of the most important exams of their academic year. In fact, he was apprehended by Peeves while in the Restricted Section of the library just a few weeks ago. Received detention for an entire week. But what's new, really? He practically lives in detention.
As the clock struck one hour past midnight, it tolled, marking the end of another long evening of study. He took this as his cue to draw the night to a close. With a resigned sigh, he instinctively began to collect his belongings.
He grabbed his dragonhide satchel, sliding in the punctured scrolls of parchment and books. He prepared himself to start his trek to the dorm rooms. He could have opted for a more convenient location, yet he deliberately chose to distance himself from his familiar spots.
He took a moment to gather his thoughts, feeling the weight of the night's work settling in. He had taken to steering clear of the Slytherin common room and the Undercroft during the daylight hours this past week. Instead, he sought refuge in vacant rooms or hid himself in places he knew his mate would not think to look. He claims he discovered a book detailing the whereabouts of a hidden chamber belonging to one of Hogwarts' founders, stating this chamber contains a cure for his twin sister's illness. As Ominis is one of Slytherin's descendants, he's been pestering him about its whereabouts. Sebastian's relentless pursuit of the Scriptorium was getting on his last nerves.
He has repeatedly made it clear that this Scriptorium is merely an altar of dark magic, and he must steer clear of it. He is growing weary of having the same tiresome discussion and pointless argument over and over again.
Why could Sebastian not understand? It was infuriating, truly. Dark magic was a slippery slope, a seductive path lined with corruption, and it was one Ominis was determined never to tread. A dull, simmering frustration churned within him, clenching his fists at his sides. Did he really care so little for the consequences? Sebastian knows better than anyone why he detests the dark arts. It felt like a betrayal as if he were mocking the very fears that plagued Ominis.
He just couldn't shake the memory of their argument from earlier that week. They had hurled harsh words at each other, but nothing pierced him quite like Sebastian's accusation: "If you cared about her," he had spat, "you wouldn't have abandoned Anne. Not hide behind your self-righteousness!" The pain of the accusation ran deeper than he would have ever expected.
Anne was like family, more than he had ever considered his own kin. He had always believed that she brought out the best in Sebastian, often serving as the voice of reason, the saner of the twins. However, since her illness and absence, Sebastian has spiraled out of control, and Ominis is bearing the brunt of it.
He wanted nothing more than to help and see her free from her affliction, but the thought of dabbling in dark arts filled him with dread. There was a line, a very real boundary that he would never cross. There had to be other ways; surely, there were methods less tainted by tenebrousness.
Each time he'd tried to explain his conviction, he felt as if he was shouting into a void—while Sebastian, blind to reason, remained fixated on the notion that Salazar Slytherin had the answer he was searching for.
He's even managed to convince the new fifth-year to do his bidding. The poor sap seemed desperate to please everyone, talk about a try-hard. Everyone praises her, but Ominis doesn't understand the fuss. Even Sebastian can't stop ranting about her when he's not blabbering about that damn Scriptorium.
Given her obvious lie about the Undercroft and the likelihood that she's encouraging Sebastian in his pursuit of this dark arts madness, he knows enough about her to keep his distance. Anyone who chooses to assist his best friend in his descent into depravity is untrustworthy.
He closed his pupilless eyes, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself. He couldn't let anger ruin his sleep. Just as he began to gain his composure, a sound drifted in from just outside the classroom—a gentle chord that pulled his focus. From the distance, muffled notes began to weave their way down the stairwell just on the other side of the door.
He pressed his palms against the door. As it opened, he could discern the sound of a piano. The gentle keystrokes unfurled an ethereal melody that pulled him with an almost magnetic force, mesmerizing him as it beckoned him closer. He realized it was coming from the music room upstairs.
He always assumed that the room was just there to collect dust. Never had he encountered a student with an instrument nor heard music breathing life into the corridors of the bell tower. In fact, he wasn't even sure Hogwarts had a music teacher. Correction: He is well aware that they do not have a music teacher. Given how much money his parents contribute to the school, he would personally know if Hogwarts hired a new instructor. The harmony drifting from the tower at this ungodly hour struck him as profoundly strange. Who could possibly be up there?
Curiosity consumed him. He gripped the stone stair railing with one hand and held his guiding wand in the other. Each step seemed to amplify the sounds around him. As he climbed, he became aware of the changes in his surroundings. The hard stone walls and floors gradually gave way to a comforting softness underfoot. The sound of his footsteps shifted, too, now muted and gentle against the rich wooden surface.
When he reached the top, he hesitated. The piano's notes resonated against his skin, the thin hairs on his arm raising. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door ajar, wincing at the creak of the hinges as he slipped inside, careful not to disturb. He lingered at the threshold, the broad wall providing a momentary shield from view. His senses were engulfed in an earthy aroma with metallic undertones.
Time seemed to disintegrate as he listened, utterly captivated by the unfamiliar melodies. They swayed through the room, intricate and emotive, pulling him further into their depths. For a brief moment, he felt as if he were a solitary audience member at an intimate concert, a mesmerizing performance meant solely for him. The crescendos filled his chest with warmth, and the soft diminuendo danced along his back, sending tingling sensations down it.
Captivated by the music, he lifted his fingers and motioned them as if he were the one creating the melody. Though he had never fancied himself musically inclined—especially given his plight—he had heard of blind musicians who could master their instruments with surprising prowess. Yet, such thoughts seemed to belong to a world he could never hope to be a part of.
Eventually, the music faded into silence. Ominis strained to listen, catching the faint rustle of fabric mingling with the soft clinking of beads. For what felt like an eternity, he held his breath, every instinct urging him to remain utterly still, gripped by the fear of being heard. Finally, he heard the light tap of footsteps on the wooden floor, followed by the gentle creak of a door opening, then closing again. Once he sensed the figure had moved far enough away, he stepped closer to the piano.
His fingers hovered just above the smooth ivory keys, careful not to press down. A deep yearning washed over him as he imagined what it would feel like to bring the instrument to life with his touch. In moments like this, he often reflected on the choices that had shaped his life and the possibilities that had slipped through his fingers—all because of his blindness.
After much hesitation, he pressed one of the keys down firmly, feeling the smooth surface of the piano beneath his fingertips. He could almost discern the airy note escaping the piano, searching for a place to belong, a melody to be part of. Then he pressed the next key. The notes he played were merely a shadow of the rich music that had once graced the room.
His parents would have eagerly paid for private lessons; they would be absolutely thrilled to see their blind son take up an instrument. For them, it'd be quite the spectacle—a circus performance. Pureblood families, like the Gaunts, often gravitate toward grand displays of entertainment and showmanship within their social circles. Just the thought of it soured his longing, tainting the fantasy. With a sudden impulse, he jerked his hand away and left through the door that the mysterious pianist had used moments ago.
He stepped into the bell tower courtyard, the crisp autumn air stinging his cheeks. Pulling his coat tight, he quickened his pace. Soon, he reached his chambers, dropped his satchel, and sank into his bed. The prospect of the weekend ahead was a comfort, a chance to catch up on much-needed sleep after his late-night study session. He closed his eyes tightly, the lingering notes of a piano melody dancing in his mind as he drifted off.
The next morning, Ominis trudged down the stairs, his stomach growling for breakfast. As he passed by Sebastian's bed, he couldn't help but notice it was empty, the sheets still perfectly tucked in. Had he slept here yesterday?
Shaking off the nagging thought, he went downstairs. He refused to let himself dwell on his friend's questionable sleeping habits any longer. Surely, Sebastian would turn up soon enough, ready to pester him again as usual.
He rushed through breakfast, barely tasting the food before hurrying up the stairs to the stuffy chamber off the Great Hall. Dust hung in the air, and he could feel it clinging to his skin.
With a groan, he pulled a chair from one of the tables, still fighting the remnants of last night's fatigue. He slumped forward, head resting on his arms, hoping to steal a few moments of rest. He can continue his studies after his well-deserved nap.
As he stirred from his slumber, he instinctively knew it was well into the evening and realized he'd missed dinner. With a sigh, he gathered himself, stretching his limbs before pushing through the chamber door and making his way down the stairs. He tried to hurry to avoid being caught in an undesirable conversation. Perhaps make his way to the astronomy tower, where he will presumably have a little over two hours to stow away before the next class begins.
A soft, whispering voice in the depths of his mind beckoned him to return to the stairwell of the bell tower. He longed to hear the music again, desiring to spend another night as a one-man audience to an unknown pianist.
However, his plan became utterly futile the instant he entered the Great Hall.
"Ominis."
The voice stopped him in his tracks, a cold knot of tightening in his chest. "Sebastian".
"We need to talk." Sebastian's voice was desperate. Ominis' avoidance tactics had finally run their course.