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🎼🌙Moonlight
Fluffy Ominis x MC!Reader drabble [G-rated, 800 words]
"Fitting, isn't it?" he murmurs, so quiet his voice blends with the song's deeper notes. "The verse speaks of how we wear masks to pretend all is well, but only in moonlight do our true feelings arise." "Shall we promise, then, to leave the masks behind tonight?" "I’ll promise that," he says, offering a hand, “if you'll honour me with a dance.”
In search of distraction from Ranrok's rebellion, you dance with Ominis in the Undercroft.
[read on AO3]
A/N: I originally wrote this for @yoshitsuno's #Hogtober challenge last year, but I've since made some edits. Very short and sweet, no use of Y/N (just you/yours) and MC is gender neutral. Enjoy. <3
The music lilts up the lift shaft, reaching your ears long before it clunks to a juddering stop. When the grille slides up, you tiptoe into the Undercroft. It’s a classical tune you don’t recognise, a poignant operatic with a melody that evokes a sense of sadness and beauty – and you know immediately which Slytherin will be enjoying it.
Eyes shut, Ominis is reclined against the furthest pillar. He’s dressed down today, in an unbuttoned waistcoat and loosely knotted tie. You could almost believe he was asleep if not for his wand, gently mimicking a conductor’s baton against his thigh, tapping perfectly in time with each beat.
“It’s a lovely song.”
He doesn’t stop. “From Gabriel Fauré's Clair de lune. I particularly like its message, comparing the human experience to rays of the moon.”
He gets to his feet as you drift closer. The voice swells dramatically; he flicks his wand, and the gramophone quietens.
“No, no, don’t turn it down on my account,” you say; Ominis’ hand hangs in air. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Why did you come?”
“To find something to do. To… distract myself. All this business with Ranrok…”
You don’t need to say anything more. He knows.
The corners of his mouth tug upwards. “There’s always homework. I believe we have eight inches to write for Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
“Already finished it.”
“Naturally. Don’t tell Sebastian though, he might want to copy.”
“If he doesn’t I’ll assume someone hexed him.”
Ominis smiles more warmly and takes a tentative step closer; in the light of the braziers, shadows writhe and bend against him, sharply cleaving his features, and it makes him look like he could set fire to the world.
"Fitting, isn't it?" he murmurs, so quiet his voice blends with the song's deeper notes. "The verse speaks of how we wear masks to pretend all is well, but only in moonlight do our true feelings arise."
"Shall we promise, then, to leave the masks behind tonight?"
"I’ll promise that," he says, offering a hand, “if you'll honour me with a dance.”
“You can dance?”
“A little. And you?”
“No,” you admit, yet you breach his space, close enough to smell his cologne, “but it might be nice to learn.”
“It’s simple.” He guides your hand to his shoulder, and clasps the other gently in his own. “If a blind man can do it, you are more than capable.”
“Don’t put yourself down like that.”
“I’m only trying to make you feel comfortable.” His tone is lighter, laced with teasing. “Follow my lead.”
His free hand goes to your waist, and the touch dizzies you as he coaxes you back, to the left, forwards again and around. Ominis commands you so well you wouldn't believe he wasn’t born to play the role of the dutiful heir of Slytherin, born to lead his pure-blood family to its inherent greatness. Were it not for his virtuous beliefs, his unwavering loyalty and kind heart, perhaps it would be true. It was that compassion that drew you to him in the first place, so long ago – and it's the small ways he continues to prove his compassion that keeps you there, a stalwart presence at his side.
With him, leaving the mask behind is easier.
“Let the music show you the way,” he says, when you curse after a misstep. “Feet position doesn’t matter so much as the reason we're dancing.”
You step in again, basking in his scent. “What are we dancing for?”
“That depends on you.”
“To peace, then.” You smile at him though he cannot see. “We dance to carve out a moment of peace.”
“I like that.”
He leads, you follow. The Undercroft becomes your stage, Ominis the prince that sweeps you away. There is no rebellion, no school, no expectation of society, responsibility, or real life. All you see is him, all you feel is his compassion, the shadows that yield to him giving you room to breathe. He may have darkness at his beck and call, and you the tumult of an incoming storm, but together you make something brilliant and beautiful. Together you make the lone ray of the moon that lights the way through the everlasting night.
“You see?” he says, with that inexplicably captivating softness. “You're a natural.”
You squeeze his hand.
“I have a good teacher.”
A loud cough jerks Ominis back, out of your grip.
The grille closes, and Sebastian strolls inside, robe thrown over his shoulder, looking terribly smug.
“Interrupt something, did I?”
“No,” Ominis barks at once, that softness replaced by calloused edges and walls. He steps a polite distance away, but doesn’t turn his back. “You presume too much.”
“Or I don’t presume enough?”
You sweep down your robe, fixing Sebastian a glare. He only wiggles his brow at you. Ingrate.
“Either way, stop that racket. I need absolute silence to copy your Defence Against the Dark Arts essays.”
Moment dashed, masks on, Ominis makes a weary grunt and goes to turn the gramophone off… but you don’t miss the smile that lingers on his face.
Fin.
[read on AO3] [Gabriel Fauré's Clair de lune on YouTube] [Divider credit]