Snow crunches underfoot as you lead the way up the lantern-lit path, the windows of your family home glowing gold against the winter dark. The air smells faintly of pine and chimney smoke, and the distant jangle of carollers drifts on the wind. Beside you, Ominis walks carefully, wand guiding his steps with its usual precision, but his posture is tighter than it should be, shoulders drawn as though bracing for an invisible blow.

He’d refused to return to Gaunt Manor for the holidays, though he’d said very little on the subject. You hadn’t pressed. Instead, you’d simply extended the invitation.

Now, standing at the door, Ominis hesitates. His gloved fingers flex around his wand; the muscles at his throat shift as he swallows. “I… may not be the sort of guest your family expects,” he murmurs, voice soft, careful. “You’re certain they won’t mind a stray?”