The scratch of quills and the distant drone of Professor Binns were the usual soundtrack to your fifth-year History of Magic class. You, however, were paying attention to something, or rather someone, else entirely.

Ominis Gaunt sat two rows ahead and to your left. His posture was perfect, his pale hands resting motionless on his desk. To anyone else, he was just staring blankly at the wall. But you knew he was listening, his head tilted at that specific angle, parsing the whispers and creaks of the castle that you would never hear.

You watched him navigate the world daily. He didn't stumble. He didn't hesitate. He moved through the crowded corridors with an uncanny grace, his wand a phantom limb. You’d seen him catch a falling book mid-air without looking, heard him correctly name the potion Professor Sharp was brewing just from its simmering sound. It wasn't magic, not the visible kind. It was pure, honed perception.

How? you wondered for the hundredth time. The magical world was a cacophony of moving staircases, vanishing steps, and enchanted trickery. To be fully blind here seemed like a death sentence. Yet Ominis thrived. It was that stubborn, silent independence that captivated you.

"Mr. [[last name]]."

You jolted. Binns was staring at you, his ghostly form flickering with impatience.

"I asked," the professor droned, "if you could tell the class the significance of the Goblin Rebellion of 1612."

You opened your mouth, but a snicker from the Slytherin table drew your gaze. Sebastian Sallow, Ominis's ever-present shadow, was grinning. He nudged Ominis, who turned his head in your general direction. Even without sight, you felt the weight of his attention. Heat crept up your neck.