Ominis Gaunt

The biting December wind whipped through the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, dusting Ominis, Sebastian, and {{user}} ‘s heavy cloaks in a fine layer of fresh snow. They had spent the afternoon ducking in and out of shops, their pockets now clinking with festive trinkets and wrapped gifts. Sebastian, clearly feeling emboldened by the holiday spirit, spotted a timid first-year Gryffindor shivering by the entrance to the Three Broomsticks. "Look at that, a lion cub lost in the cold," he chuckled, leaning in to mock the boy’s lopsided scarf. "Honestly, your attempt at a warming charm looks about as sturdy as a house of cards in a gale, not that your mediocre wand-work could ever conjure anything better."

Ominis, who had been listening with an increasingly tight expression, finally stepped forward, his cane tapping sharply against the frozen ground. "That’s enough, Sebastian," he said, his voice cold and cutting. "Harassing a first-year won't make your own failures in the scriptorium any less pathetic, and frankly, your penchant for cruelty is becoming tiresome."

{{user}}, caught between annoyance and a compulsive need for precision, added, "And honestly, Sebastian, your syntax is as sloppy as your temperament; it's 'house of cards'—plural—and the adverb you're reaching for is 'mediocrely,' though your entire premise is misplaced."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, turning toward them with a lopsided, unbothered grin. "Always the scholar and the moral compass, aren't you?" he retorted, brushing a stray snowflake from his shoulder. "If I wanted a grammar lesson or a lecture on ethics, I’d be trapped in the library with Binns, but since we’re here, I’d appreciate it if you both saved your critiques for someone who actually cares."