He stopped dead in his tracks. Not for the first time, panic washed over him like a tidal wave. Often, he drowned in the waters and was unable to resurface to admit what he desired. Ominis took a steadying breath and gripped his wand tighter.

Worse still than the growing terror gnawing at his insides was the fact that he had let his actions be dictated by fear. He wouldn’t anymore, no matter the consequences. He would explode if he kept this bottled in for much longer.

In less than ten minutes, he would either be the happiest man in the castle or more depressed than Nearly Headless Nick when his request for membership to the Headless Hunt was denied. He hoped for all he was worth that it was the former. 

At last, he came to his destination: the musical corridor. He knew you loved visiting this place for the merry tunes that always seemed to brighten your mood. Already the diverse collection of melodic and cheerful sounds from the instruments filled his ears. It gave him a needed boost of courage.

He sensed a few students sitting on the benches delighting in the festive songs, but you were not among them. He proceeded down the hall until his wand alerted him to your location. You stood facing a painting whose subject sounded as if she were playing the mandolin. 

He made his presence known. “Enjoying the music, are we?” 

“Oh, Ominis, you gave me a fright!” You were startled. “You’re as quiet as a church mouse sometimes. Did you just get out of Ancient Runes class? How was it?”  

He replied, “It went better than usual today. Professor Madmeeke was rather occupied with a new translation he discovered and allowed us to have independent study.” Ominis left out the detail that he was also distracted during class by attempting to plan out this very conversation. 

“That must have been nice. I used my free period researching for my Essence of Insanity essay.” You sighed, “Thirty inches on the subject. I think Professor Sharp hates us with the amount he’s giving us. I’ll have to revise it in the morning, but I needed a break before I worked on my star chart for Astronomy. Hm, maybe I’ll leave that til I’ve had dinner though. What about you? What are you going to do tonight?”

Ominis opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn’t say the words now, could he? It would be all too random and abrupt. Here you were asking mundane questions about what he was going to do this evening, and here he was ready to profess how love-struck he was by you.

That wouldn’t be right. It was too improper… too unexpected.  At least, that's the excuse he gave. Abort mission! Abort mission! Gathering what was left of his scattered senses, he answered, “I have homework to complete for herbology.” 

The next words pop out before he could stop himself. “Would you consider studying with me in the library? A study date, perhaps?”

Merlin’s beard, what possessed him to suggest that! Mortification overcame his entire being. He was seconds away from fleeing to spare you the embarrassment of having to reply when you spoke up.

“What a wonderful idea! It’d make the work pleasanter to have you with me. Shall we say eight o’clock?” Ominous gave a brief nod. “I’ll see you then. I’d stay a while longer, but I promised Lenora I'd meet her. I best be off if I’m to make it in time. Bye.” 

Ominis felt your hand pat his back and heard your retreating footsteps. He laid down against the wall as his legs were wobbling an awful lot. You had said yes.

His head was spinning, in a good way that is. Did your acceptance mean that you were smitten as well? Would this be the first of many, many dates? A sudden, upsetting thought occurred to him.

What if you took the word date to mean a social engagement with a friend rather than a romantic one? Blast it. Why did he have to get so tongue tied around you? He should have made his intentions clear. 

But what if you did understand his true meaning and misinterpreted it on purpose? On the other hand, he could be worrying for nothing. It could be possible you did grasp what he meant by date and consented to it in full knowledge.

Why did this have to be this arduous of a process? Because I’m a coward, that’s why. He shook his head and began making his way to the Slytherin common room. A nap was what he needed to soothe his addled brain before the date/not-a-date which would be taking far too soon for his liking.

_

You were already waiting for Ominis when he arrived at the library’s entrance. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” he greeted.

“Of course not. I came early. I was perusing ‘An Account of the Heavens Told Through 173 Star Patterns’ by Ileana Cardaignory.” You tucked the heavy book back in your bag.

“Professor Shah recommended it to those who were interested in learning more than the eighteen star patterns we focused on in class last week.”

You descended the stairs and opened the doors. “Would you mind if we sat near the back instead of the front. I concentrate better when there aren’t as many students passing by where we sit.”

“Not at all. Whatever is better for you.” In truth, he preferred a private setting on this… outing with you (he couldn’t call it a date if he didn’t know whether you regarded it as one).

Sitting across from you at the circular table, he pulled out his herbology textbook. He heard you unfurl a scroll and set about scribbling down the star’s positions.

He tried to pay attention to his own work; writing twenty-five inches on the uses of sneezewort. He had sixteen inches and needed an additional nine. 

By his estimate, thirty minutes had elapsed where he read and you wrote. He could do little else besides read because he worried about disturbing you if he dictated his words for the quill to write.

Oh well, he also brought his Ancient Runes book to examine. He tapped his foot on the floor, his impatience increasing minute by minute. He set down his book and asked, “What time is it?”

You yawned, “It’s 9:08. We’ve been studying for an hour.”

“Shall we consider taking a small recess then?”

“Don’t tempt me, Ominis.” You brushed your quill’s feathery end across his face, making him smile.

“Oh, but I am. I think it would be good to stretch our legs and have a short reprieve. Care to join me for a stroll amongst the shelves?” He stood up and extended his arm in your general direction.

“Well, if you insist.” You hooked your elbow with his and led the way. “My eyes are straining themselves. Why do star charts have to be so small? It’d be easier to see them if they were bigger. However, that would have to be an enormous scroll to fit them all.

“I guess it is preferable for the charts to be compacted instead. If giants were taking the class, the charts would have to be large. Everything would be big for them though. How big would a telescope have to be for a giant to use? If an average sized person used a giant’s telescope, would he see extra stars in greater clarity?” 

You continued talking in this manner for several minutes, jumping from one topic to the next. When you paused to inspect a certain spell book, Ominis cut in to inquire if you would be visiting Hogsmeade tomorrow.

You said, “Yes, I need to drop by Scrivenshaft's to purchase a new bundle of quills. Their eagle feather quills are marvellous. I also need to go to Tomes and Scrolls. I’ve been meaning to get the tome ‘Retribution: Call of the Caged Mind’ for a while now. Are you going to buy anything at the shops?”

“I need a new vest and should replenish my stock of Bertie Bott's Beans. Would you like to go together?”

“That'd be nice. Hogsmeade trips are more pleasurable with good company. Would it make any difference if I invited Nellie to come with us. She and I were discussing–”

Ominis interrupted, “As a matter of fact, it would make a difference. Allow me to speak plainly and rephrase my question.” Ominis licked his lips, nervousness seeping into him. He ignored it. “May I have the honour of accompanying you to Hogsmeade as your date?”

You gasped, “My date?” He felt his heart fall into his stomach when you took a step back from him. That couldn’t have been a favourable sign. You stuttered, “W-why?”

Ominis hadn’t been expecting that response. He refrained from saying sarcastically that he had hoped you would pay for his things. Why did you think he asked?

“Because I am interested in pursuing you in a romantic fashion.” Silence followed his frank statement, and not for the thousandth time he wished to see your face. What could your expression tell him that your voice or lack thereof did not? 

You whispered, “I-I didn’t know you cared for me in that capacity. I assumed my feelings were… unrequited.” 

It was Ominis’ turn to be stunned. “Are you implying that you believed all those instances where I sought you out alone, complimented you, shared my prized confectioneries, slept on your shoulder in History of Magic were platonic in nature?”

“I convinced myself they were the actions of a true friend.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Ominis couldn’t contain himself. He snorted, “Yes, a true friend who frequently imagines snogging you.” His face dropped at once. He stammered, “Forgive me. That was inappropriate of me to say. Please–”

You laughed and stepped forward to grab his hands with yours, leaning closer to him. You murmured next to his ear which sent his heart beating faster, “I’ll let you in on a secret. I have pondered the exact same thing.”

You squeezed his hands and tilted your face nearer to his until your soft lips kissed his cheek.

Ominis did not dare move or breathe lest he woke up from this sublime dream. Oh, how he wished his lips had been the target. You were teasing him now, weren’t you?

Indeed, he heard you giggle, pulling back from him. “I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you, Ominis. If you want, we could indulge ourselves further tomorrow.”

Ominis reclines on the sofa, massaging his head. To say he's thrilled to be expecting is an understatement – it's taken years to get pregnant, and too many nights of tears and solidarity and pushing on despite the emotional toll – but this is the one conversation he's been fearing as a result. He knew you'd object to the idea of giving the baby something simple and unremarkable. Something opposite to his own. You're so wild that your taste reflects it.

"I don't oppose wizard names," he corrects calmly. "I oppose ridiculous wizard names. We should name our son something that would fit well in the Muggle world."

"We're a wizarding family! He should have a good wizard's name. We could call him Ominis. Mini for short!"

"Do you know how many people misspell my name on a regular basis? Your own family did when we first met."

"They'd misspell Ominous too," you note, and flop down on the armchair opposite him. "It's wizarding tradition, isn't it, to name your children after someone you know?"

"We're not naming him after any of my family."

"No," you agree quickly. "But I think Ominis the Second would be so cute!"

He sighs. "I'm actually Ominis the Fourth, darling."

"... Really?"

"Some great-times-three granduncle, and before him great-times-five grandfather—" He waves. "I absolutely veto my name, regardless of number."

You huff. "Fine. Then what about my family? We could name him after one of my brothers?"

"How will you choose which one? And more importantly, how big do you wish to puff their egos?"

"Fair point."

"And we're certainly not naming him after any of our friends." The gloating Sebastian would do if they named the child after him, let alone any of your annoying companions – Leander or Garreth, for example – would be utterly insufferable. "If we name him after someone we know, he must be an exemplary person, and I cannot fathom a single someone who is worthy of that accolade."

"That's okay." Something rustles – he realises you've conjured a book. "I had a feeling we wouldn't agree, so I bought this in Diagon Alley last week."

He freezes. "Merlin help me if that's the Book of Wizard—"

"— Baby Names by Sudo Nym, yes."

That book is possibly the worst thing to ever happen to the wizarding world, published centuries ago, giving the pure-bloods ideas that it was acceptable to name their children after Greek myths or animals or letters strung together, like Apollonia or Peregrine or Marvolo.

"I thought we could go through it and find one we like."

Well, you've certainly come prepared – but he's done his research too. He waves his wand, and a sheaf of papers fall into his hands.

"What's that?" you ask sharply.

"The recent census," he says coolly, delighting in your tone, "for the most popular Muggle names."

There's certainly crossover, of course, he's not stupid – neither are you. But wizard names always have a certain eccentricity to them that Muggle names lack, and to call your child a wizard's name, especially one from that infernal book, is a blatant signal to the world about their heritage and their ancestry, and an invitation for difficulty in later life.

"Let's see." He glides his finger over the top of the list. "The first is John."

"Bleh! That's so unexciting! So plain! Whereas, the first name here is Aberforth."

"Absolutely not."

"Then how about Albus?"

"I presume you want our son to attend Muggle school before Hogwarts?"

"Of course!"

"Then you are asking for him to be bullied."

You groan – he takes advantage of the gap and skims down the list. "Here's a nice one. Harry."

You bark a laugh. "If Albus is asking to be bullied, then Harry is asking to be forgotten."

"Would a common name be so bad?"

"It's just boring, Ominis," you insist. "We're the most un-boring people on the planet. We can't give him a boring name. Oh! What about... Altair?"

"No stars. That's a Black family tradition."

"Corvus?"

"A favourite of the Lestranges."

"Ronald?"

"Sounds like an awful Weasley name. And yes," he adds quickly, "I know it's a Muggle name, too."

You rattle more off, a litany of first names, and Ominis loathes each of them for one reason or another – the name is attached to some nasty historical figure, or someone you both know, or it sounds clumsy with your surname.

"Ugh, you're not liking any of them!" The book whumpfs when you shut it. "Your turn, then, go on."

He smiles, certain he'll find something you like.

"George."

"I know about five."

"Ben?"

"Too short."

"Benjamin?"

"Too long."

"Herbert?"

"Do I really need to say anything?"

He goes down the list with increasing impatience, shocked when you reject even the most inoffensive names. It's too dull, or you know someone already with it, or it's so common your son will be the tenth in his year group and lack his own identity.

Frustrated, Ominis lets the paper fall limp. "So we want a name more wizard than Muggle but more Muggle than wizard."

"Precisely."

He might as well ask Father Christmas to be real. "Darling, I really do think it best we name him something appropriate to the world we live in now. We can't guarantee our son will be magical. What if he's a Squib? We ought to choose something we won't have to explain to every Muggle we meet."

"It's no one's business how we decide a name," you scoff. "We could name our child Marzipan and be plum dandy."

"... I can't tell if that's a serious suggestion."

"Who is the one carrying the child for nine months?"

"I am eternally grateful for that, but," he presses, "that doesn't mean I don't get a say."

"I'll allow you maybe a quarter of a say."

"I should think half is standard."

"Might be willing to bargain to a third."

"Darling."

"If you won't change your mind," you say suddenly, "then I'll just have to convince you."

"Or I convince you."

"Won't happen."

He grins suddenly. "Is that a challenge?"

You get to your feet and saunter over, leaning over him in the chair. Your low voice makes his spine trill.

"Not a challenge, honey," you whisper. "A promise."

As your belly begins to grow, you and Ominis continue back-and-forth daily on the issue. You suggest a name he hates, he suggests a name you loathe, on and on it goes. Something fun you've taken to doing over your relationship is leaving notes everywhere, written in braille for him to find, love notes, like I love you, or have a good day, but more recently they have become I LOVE the name Triton and Doesn't Athos sound brilliant?

After the third week, it becomes quite clear that you were right: you will be difficult to convince.

But difficult is not impossible.

One evening, after he's back from work and the confectionery is closed, you're squished comfortably next to him on the sofa, knitting a blanket – light blue wool, for the baby – and he's reading a novel, distracted by your chatter and the clack clack clack of your needles.

"— found some more I like from the book," you're saying. "What about Ocean?"

"Oh yes, that's delightful. Shall we name our next child Sea or River?"

"Harhar. How about Roe?"

"Delicious on buttered toast."

"Cosmo?"

"For a child or a cat?"

You snort. "You're being awfully reticent about suggesting names to me tonight."

He keeps his book open. "I have a secret weapon."

"Oh?" You laugh. "I'm sure you do, dear."

He doesn't respond, soaking in the pleasure of flippant dismissal as it slowly curdles to apprehension.

And when the doorbell rings, not five minutes later, he shuts his book and smiles.

"Better answer, my lovely wife."

When you hurry downstairs, he stands and heads to the fireplace and taps his wand twice upon it. The room shifts to cull the wizard whimsy, floating books and candles settling on the surface, bookshelves sinking back into the wall, photos going still, the gramophone silencing. Just as he hears footsteps coming back, he summons a walking stick, and tucks his wand into the shaft.

"Ominis, hello!"

Gratefully he accepts the hug from his sister-in-law, your brother's wife – very much a Muggle. "So lovely to have you, Matilda. Thank you for coming."

"I do so love seeing you both. You, young lady, ought to invite me more often!" Matilda extracts herself to scold you, then hovers near the door. "Shall I make tea?"

You start, "No, Matilda—"

"Nonsense, I'll make it. When Ominis sent word about how hard a time you were having, I knew I had to come. I completely understand how taxing it is being with child. So is deciding a name! Sit down, I insist."

She heads to the kitchen, humming.

"You, husband," you say through gritted teeth, "are a very conniving man."

He relaxes into his armchair. "I don't know what you mean, my darling."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I'm afraid any accusations will have to wait until after our guest leaves. I wouldn't worry about exposing our magical secret with that book, by the way. I've hidden that waste of trees in the other living room."

You're all cross and huffy by the time Matilda returns with a tray, passing out teacups and pouring to everyone's exact specifications. She worries over Ominis, placing his cup within arm's reach with the handle facing his way. Ominis has never had the heart to tell her he can do this all perfectly fine himself. Let her fuss over the blind man, especially now if it will win him sympathy points.

"A name must be chosen with great care," she rattles on, settled into the armchair opposite. "I would always find a handful that you like to start, and then look into the variations. Then you'll need approval from the church. You know, it took us three months to settle with James for our boy. Sometimes you just won't know until they're here. Now." Her bag rustles. "I brought some baby name books – they're a bit weathered, but they'll do in a pinch. Name trends don't change that quickly, after all..."

By the time Matilda has forced you to scour all three books, picking out the most Muggle names possible to consider – Charles and Samuel and Walter – the sun has long since dipped below the horizon, you are weary with resignation and he is utterly triumphant. Matilda makes you keep a list of the ones you like and promises to be over again to narrow it down, although he suspects you've just noted random ones down to keep her off your back.

When she finally goes, the both of you waving at the front door as she boards a carriage, you pinch his free arm.

"I'll get you back for this."

"Will you?"

"It takes two to play games, Ominis."

"This is a hill I'm willing to die on." He leans over, maintaining an impeccable smile. "So if this is a game we're playing... your move."

"Can I speak to you quickly, Gaunt?"

Ominis rolls his lips – not for the wrong surname, which no matter how much he insists isn't his anymore everyone still uses, but for the resigned disdain of his boss, Adalbert Pimlico. He follows the man into his office, thoughtful. Adalbert. Such a pompous wizard's name.

The office is musky with cigar smoke. Ominis resists the urge to wince as he sits in the lone armchair in front of the massive oak desk, cluttered with parchments. On the outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is a well-oiled machine, highly efficient and shrouded in a little mystery, but his initial expectations were quickly doused once he realised how the whole place was strung together with nothing but determination and shoelace. As competent as Aurors are at the physicality of their jobs, they're awful at administration and organisation. Pimlico's office is the perfect representation of that.

His chair makes that squelching noise of leather when he sinks onto it. "I won't say this isn't an awkward conversation to have, Gaunt, but I'm legally required to address it."

Ominis purses his lips. Something to do with his blindness, perhaps? Or his family?

"What is it, sir?"

"I've heard... rumour..." he lets out a sigh, "that you are being a neglectful husband."

Very rarely is Ominis rendered speechless – this is one of those moments.

"I— beg your pardon, sir?"

"There's been... an informal complaint that you have been negligent of your family," Pimlico says practically through grounded teeth. "I know you do a lot of late nights. Are you... having any issues at home? With your wife?"

What in Merlin's name...? "No, sir. None that I am aware of."

Except for the baby names, of course.

Pimlico's beard crackles as he scratches it. "I'm afraid I've heard there have been disagreements."

"Disagreements?"

"Small ones, but significant?"

His heart blunders for a moment.

No. No, it cannot be about the baby names. You wouldn't have involved his work.

Would you?

"I believe this informal complaint has severely exaggerated things," he levels, trying to rein the sudden indignation that bubbles beneath his collarbone. "May I ask who lodged it, sir?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose that. I can only say that it comes from a place of great care for your well-being." He leans back, the chair groans. "You're a good man, Gaunt, and you work hard, but maybe ease up a bit, spend time with the wife, you know? Wouldn't be where I am without mine. I heard you have a baby on the way, too. Congratulations. Adalbert's not a bad name, if you're looking for suggestions."

Ominis' teeth grind.

Oh, you did.

"Thank you, sir. I will certainly consider it."

When he Apparates home that evening, he immediately drops his bag and coat and marches upstairs into the kitchen. You're at the counter, humming as you stir a pot of soup.

You perk when he steps inside. "Hello, honey! How was your day?"

But he seizes your hands and pins you to the wall. You let out a squeak, releasing the wooden spoon.

"O-Ominis?"

Keeping you tightly clutched in his grasp, he closes the space between you, so he can feel your bump against his torso, and brushes his nose against yours.

"You got me in trouble at work."

There's a pause.

Then your lips curl into a wicked smile.

"I don't know what you mean, my darling."

Conniving little witch. "You think I don't know that complaint was from you?"

"Complaint is such a strong word," you say, sweet voice laced with poison. "I just happened to pop around Margaret Pimlico's for tea yesterday, and maybe we talked about how hard it is to be pregnant, and maybe I mentioned how you wouldn't let me choose a wizard name for our wizard son. Whether she shared that with her husband, well... that's her business."

He laughs suddenly, which makes you go rigid.

"You think you've won, do you? One little chinwag with my boss' wife and you've defeated me?"

"Well, you wouldn't want to be a neglectful husband, would you?"

Oh, you are pressing all his buttons tonight. If he weren't so determined to change your mind he'd find it irresistibly attractive. Instead he splays your arms further apart, drags his thumbs down to the pulse at your wrists.

"You will choose a Muggle name," he murmurs into your ear. "I will make sure of it."

"You can try, Ominis, but you won't convince me."

"Don't start a battle you cannot win."

"I don't start battles," you whisper, fierce. "I start wars."

He chuckles, presses his lips to the shell of your ear. The way you shudder against him is divine.

"Then I hope you're ready for the artillery, my love, because I do not intend to hold back."

The kiss starts long and slow.

Pressed to the bed, his hands go to your hair, pulling you closer, gripping as you moan into his mouth. His tongue swirls along the seam, and when you part for him he takes his time to explore you, devour you – hundreds of times he has done this and yet there is always more he discovers. Every night you make him weak with the taste of you, as sweet and enticing as you have been since the moment you married.

You break off for air, panting beneath him. "We really should sleep. You have an early start tomorrow."

In an effort to stave off any illicit rumours of your marriage, Ominis has started going in earlier so he can come home earlier. Inconvenient, yes, but you've kicked a ball rolling down the hill that he can't quite stop.

"I should," he mumbles, lips trailing to your jaw. "But I won't."

He takes his wand from the bedside table, and nudging your wrists above your head, places a gentle kiss on your nose before he says, "Incarcerous."

The ropes bind your wrists to the headboard. You let out a gasp as he smirks.

"O-Ominis," you stammer, "I-I'm pregnant."

"As I am well aware."

He leaves his wand aside and dives down on you. Your nightgown is gossamer thin, leaving little to the imagination. As his lips leave marks down your neck, his fingers trickle down your body until he hooks beneath the skirt, and draws it up the smooth incline of your thighs.

"But—" You audibly tremble when his fingers caress gently along your inner thigh, as they trace closer and closer to the area between your legs. "W-We can't do anything while I'm pregnant."

So endearingly naïve. He takes your nightgown between his teeth to hike it up, his hands teasingly close now, whispers away from where you want them the most.

"My darling," he breathes, "do you think your body stops working when you are with child?"

"... Yes?"

He chuckles, presses a kiss to the gentle swell of your belly. Still adorably naïve. Drawing the touch lower, he breathes in close enough to smell your excitement, to feel it budding on your most intimate place. Gently he swirls over your heat, thrilled at your sudden gasp, and slips a finger inside. You whimper, clenching around him.

"O-Ominis—"

Your voice strangles as he pleasures you, slowly, lovingly.

"What do you think now?" he whispers. "Has your body stopped working?"

"N-No."

"Does it feel good?"

"Y-Yes."

Gratified, he slides another finger inside, eliciting another moan from you, and with that same, slow, agonising rhythm, soon your body starts to tense. He can feel you approaching your climax, and he pauses.

"Hnn—" You manage a small whimper. "Please."

"Please, what?"

"P-Please f-finish me."

He smiles, kisses the flesh at your thigh.

Then abruptly pulls his fingers out and stands back up, licking them clean and fixing the cuffs on his shirt sleeves.

"It was so very thoughtful of you to give me Dracula to read. I'm quite enjoying the Muggle interpretation of vampires."

"W-What?" The protesting noise you make mollifies a deep part of him. "Ominis—"

He swings around and finds the book left on the bedside table before sinking into the armchair. "I'm in the middle of the chapter, and I do so loathe being left on tenterhooks."

"That's great," you growl, "now come over here and finish me off!"

"Did you know it's an epistolary novel? That means it's written in letters."

"At least untie me so I can do it myself!"

He slides out his bookmark and traces the words to find his place. "There are some excellent Muggle names in this one too. Jonathan, Abraham... Quincey is quite sweet."

"Ominis Aloysius!" you all but scream. "You put that book down and come back here this instant!"

He rests the book on his open palm and lets a conceited smile devour him.

"I will happily pleasure you for the rest of the night, my wonderful wife," he says, "if you agree to give our son a Muggle name."

It's the perfect set-up. Short of starving you, there's nothing your body craves more than intimacy, love and sex. To deprive you of the pinnacle now will make you wild with frustration and prone to irrational decisions.

Such as caving to a Muggle name.

You hesitate – by Merlin, he feels it, teetering over a cliff edge, and he's one second away from lapping up the victory.

But then your voice comes out as vicious as a storm.

"No."

"No?"

"Wizard name," you growl. "Not Muggle name."

The plan has failed, but that's fine. He has all night to try again.

"Ah, then I'm sorry, my darling, it seems at this moment I'm feeling particularly... mmm, neglectful." He raises his wand before you can yell. "Silencio."

You instantly quiet, and he settles into the armchair to read, delighting in the way you kick the bed in frustration.

Retaliation will be fierce and swift, no doubt... but for now he will bask in this significant, and delicious, win.

"Yes... hmm... he's very healthy so far. How have you been feeling recently, madam?"

Healer Jules withdraws his wand from your belly, allowing you to fully jig on the hospital bed with excitement. "Good! Just excited!"

"And you, sir?" he enquires after Ominis, voice soothing as it has been every appointment over the pregnancy. "Your welfare is as important."

Ominis smiles earnestly. "I am cautiously excited."

"Your baby is very healthy so far, but we will continue to check up on him, given your... ah, family history." Inbreeding, he means. Ominis resists a wince. "Have you chosen a name yet? Or narrowed it down to a few?"

The temperature seems to rise. He was expecting this question eventually – but this early into the examinations?

"Not yet," you say pleasantly. "I have a few ideas, but I have yet to convince my husband."

"And the same in reverse," Ominis says, just as pleasantly.

"Well, don't fret," says Jules, "there's plenty of time. I know of some who didn't name their child for days after the birth."

At the rate you were going, you wouldn't manage to pick a name ever.

"Surprise!"

Ominis almost – almost – shrieks. It's rare when people catch him off-guard, given his senses are so attuned to the world, but Apparating straight from work, he wasn't consciously worrying about intruders or a home invasion. Voices and footsteps suddenly overwhelm him, hands clasp his back.

"Congrats on nearly being a father!" Garreth Weasley – Garreth Weasley? – chimes. "Now, I'm just saying, Garreth is a fantastic name. I'll accept it without the second r too."

"What?"

"If you choose Mahendra," says Mahrendra Pehlwaan cheerfully, "I can guarantee you probably won't meet another. Well, unless you go to India."

"Flattered," says a third voice, which he quickly recognises as Imelda Reyes. "But you'll probably have to change it to Imeldus unless you want him to get laughed at in the playground."

More voices inject into the air. Sebastian and Missy, Adelaide Oakes and Evangeline Bardsley and Arthur Plummly, Natsai Onai and Cressida Blume. Even Leander bloody Prewett is here. All of them seem to have a strong agenda.

Ominis flings out his hands. "What the hell are you all doing in my house?"

Silence. Sebastian laughs.

"Oh, the wifey didn't tell you?" There is far too much smugness that radiates from his best friend's tone. "It's a naming party! She told us you were thinking of naming your son after a wizarding friend, so we've all come prepared to tell you why you should name your child after us."

Oh, you little... "Where is she?" he demands at once.

The door opens. With perfect timing, you enter the room.

"Oh, good, you're here! Now we can really start!"

He swings to face you, teeth clenched. "You—"

"It's so nice to have a reunion with everyone after so long, don't you think?" you sing-song, and he can detect the utter feast you're deriving from his expression. "I think we should hear our friends out. Some of them have Apparated such a long way away..."

He blows steam from his nose.

"Yes," he grouses. "Fine."

You both plonk down on the sofa as each participant gives a short speech as to why their name is best. He can tell some have made zero effort – Cressida doesn't even try, knowing her name can't really be turned into a male version – whereas some (cough, Mahendra) bring whole presentations with them, complete with notecards. Forced to sit there next to you, preening, he can't even pretend to entertain the ideas thrown at him.

When it's Sebastian's turn, he stands up, but doesn't bother walking to the centre of the room.

"You should name your child after me," he says, "because I will be the godfather."

Then he sits down.

"... Is that it?" Ominis asks.

"Yep."

"That's not a good enough reason."

"It's the only one you need."

"In fact, that's a terrible reason."

"Yeah," Leander scoffs. "I mean, who'd want two Sebastians running around?"

"Coming from you, Prewett?" Sebastian says moodily.

"Leander is a great name! It means lion! You can't get more majestic!"

"Wait your turn!"

"Your turn's over!"

"I think," you say, cutting both the men off, "that both names are lovely, and we will consider them. Won't we, Ominis?"

"No," says Ominis, dragging a hand down his face.

By the time everyone leaves, it's four hours later and dark outside, and, funnily enough, he's no closer to choosing a name, even after his friends said their pieces, even after they tried to peddle their obscure middle names too. He lies spread-eagle on the sofa as you flick your wand, gathering the crumb-laden plates into neat stacks.

"I thought we established early on," he says, as you clean, "that we wouldn't name our son after anyone we know?"

"Oh, we did."

"Then why did you have this naming party?"

You giggle. "To annoy you, of course."

"Petty." He comes over, taking your chin and pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. "Is that really the best you can do?"

"After getting your work involved and now our friends? What else do you want me to do?" Your voice falters when he smiles. "What else have you got planned?"

He smiles.

The entrance to the tarot parlour appears to be suitably... mystical.

Ominis yokes his disinterest as he almost drags you, arm-in-arm, through the front door behind your two excited Muggle friends. For reasons he cannot discern beyond simple atmosphere, the curtains to Madam Sybillus' Fortune House are drawn closed, plunging the group into a low-ceilinged reception thick with heat from the fireplace, a degree too hot to comfortably adjust from the balmy weather outside. It smells of smoke and incense, so strongly Ominis has to squeeze your arm to adjust, and a bell tinkles upon the door's shutting, announcing their arrival.

"Welcome to the start of your future," comes the luxuriously trill of the house assistant.

You give his arm a squeeze and whisper, "Oh, boy, here we go."

It's a true perplexity to him how much interest Muggle women take in divining the future. For wizards and seers, it's a genuine way to predict what is to come. For Muggles, however, it's simply a fun parlour game, a way to ascribe particular happenstances to choices made outside of one's control.

"Have you booked... an appointment?" asks the assistant, fluttering her fingers outwards.

"Yes," says Lizzie, who although the calmest of the three of you cannot seem to contain her excitement. "Half eleven, under Farmer?"

"Gertrude Farmer," says Gertrude, vibrating with nerves. "Should be for the four o' us?"

"Ah, yes, I see, with the great mother of divination herself," says the assistant. "She awaits you in her parlour down the hallway. Please, go ahead."

The magical nature of your backgrounds has meant neither of you have partaken in Muggle fortune-telling before. This unwitting hole in your life experience, of course, rocked Gertrude to her core so thoroughly that she rang her local parlour to make an appointment at once, a girl's outing with one morose husband. A week later, here you are.

"Putting it on, much?" you murmur to Ominis as they head down the corridor, out of Gertrude and Lizzie's earshot. "Bet you a Galleon she'll make a vague prediction that can be applied to anyone."

"I'm not prepared to make a bet I know I'll lose," he murmurs, smirking. "Do try to enjoy it, darling. It's meant to be for fun."

"Fun? It's a scam! All stuff and nonsense!" you mutter. "I don't know why Gerty and Lizzie believe in any of it!"

The parlour itself is so oppressively enclosed Ominis feels it like fingers on his back. There are no windows and the walls are layered with yet more curtain. A large round table, draped in velvet, fills most of the room, with Madam Sybillus herself seated at the perceived head. She stands gracefully to welcome you inside.

"Please, remove your coats and bags, and make yourselves comfortable." Her voice is the musical lilt of an eastern European accent, although Ominis cannot distinguish which. "We will begin the reading at your leisure."

You sit down, obviously dubious about the whole thing. As Gertrude and Lizzie giggling profusely, you squeeze his hand, and the fortune-teller calls for quiet.

"Mrs Farmer," she says to Gertrude, "perhaps you would like to go first?"

"Yeah, aw'right!" chimes Gertrude.

"The rest of you, close your eyes. Let your energy fuse with Mrs Farmer's as the crystal ball divines her future."

You grunt but oblige; Ominis closes his eyes too. Gertrude touches the crystal ball with her nails, and Sybillus' bangles jingle.

"Hmm... yes... I see... goodness..."

Gertrude is suddenly nervous. "Goodness? What d'you mean?"

"I see... children in your future."

"Children!" she gasps. "Yes! Jacob and I will have a family!"

You snort. "Of course you will. You've been married for two years!"

"And I'm sensing..." Sybillus exhales noisily, "riches... you will have a plentiful crop this year. The weather will work in your favour."

"How did you know I was from a farming family?"

"I wonder," you scoff, "was it maybe that your married name is Farmer?"

Gertrude slaps your arm – you yelp. "Stop being a bleedin' spoilsport!"

Sybillus laughs genially. "Please, let the young lady voice her opinions. You do not believe in the magic of fortune-telling, madam?"

You blurt a laugh, still squeezing Ominis' arm. "Magic, you say?"

"Choice, fate. No matter your perception, it is all the magic of life."

"Do you actually see things in your crystal ball?"

"I do not see," she says, "I feel."

"Riiiiiight." You give Ominis' arm a firm tug. "Forgive me if I'm much more of a practical, what can I do with my own two hands, sort of lady."

"I can see that. You and your husband went through many trials to be together, did you not?"

You go rigid. "What? Er, I mean, maybe."

Lizzie gasps. "You saw that in your crystal ball?"

"I felt it. Mmmm, yes." Her bangles clink again. "You worked so hard to be together, through heartbreak, grief... death. I believe you have many more trials ahead. You are expecting your first child. Your... son."

"Anyone could've told you that," you say, but your voice is straining now. "My belly's the size of a watermelon."

Ominis rolls his lips.

"You have hopes for your child... a loving, tender family, yes... raised in two worlds as one... you wish... for him to be... a Hufflepuff."

Your grip on him slackens. "What?"

"Is that true?" Lizzie asks you.

"What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" Gertrude mutters.

You shake Ominis' arm desperately. "Did you say anything?" you hiss.

"Not at all."

"Then how— how does she know?"

"That's not all!" Sybillus gasps. "Your son... yes, I see great things from him... great things for... Frederick... perhaps Ernest, indeed!"

"Frederick?" you bleat. "Ernest?"

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Lizzie cries. "You'll choose a name!"

"Or... hmm... I'm also sensing a potential... Harold... or Leslie!"

"N-No!"

Gertrude gives a great, belly-aching laugh. "Finally! After months of you two going on and on about it! And those names ain't half-bad either."

"You must've said something!" you demand Ominis. "I-I know you did! About the baby names!"

He sighs. "I haven't spoken a word, darling. I didn't even know what this fortune-telling was until a week ago." At least, not the Muggle kind. "Perhaps there is truth to what's been said?"

"B-But—" You pout. "But it's not real! You know that! Those can't be the names..."

By the end of the session, Lizzie has also been promised that good karma will be coming her way after she volunteered at the Royal Free Hospital last week. When Lizzie confirms she was there, you're jarred into complete, mouth-ajar silence. The candles go out, and Sybillus stands to wish you farewell, and you and your friends hurry to collect your things.

"Not you, sir." Sybillus crooks her finger at Ominis. "I'm afraid the reading was not settled properly by your party."

Ominis makes a show of grumbling. "Go on, I'll catch up."

You hesitate, but head back to the reception with your friends.

When you're gone, he finally relaxes, digging into his jacket to produce a pouch, swollen with coin.

"You played your part excellently, thank you. The second half, as promised."

"It freaked her out real good, that did," Sybillus cackles – her accent is gone. "She a big sceptic, then? Most women her age get into right tizzies when their fortunes are accurately predicted."

"A very large sceptic. I appreciate that you memorised the notes I gave you."

"What a well-paying client wants me to tell, I tell, even if it don't make no sense. What's with the baby names, anyway?"

He grins. You'll figure out his scheme eventually, but for now he's enjoying the fun whilst it lasts.

"Just a little joke with my wife."

This time, when the kisses start at nightfall, Ominis doesn't relax into them. He seizes up with immediate knowing.

Still, he's happy to play along for now. Happy to enjoy the physical affection, if naught else. He tips your chin higher as your mouth moves against his, shy at first, then eager and playfully nipping at his lip. He accepts the tongue, languid and sweeping, with a flutter of desire he keeps thoroughly caged.

"Ominis," you mumble, yanking his collar down for better access.

He smiles into your kisses. "You're very needy tonight, wife."

No doubt you won't let him tie you up, lest you end up being torturously edged for the whole night again. Still, he cottons on to your dastardly plot when you fall to your knees and hurriedly go to unfasten the laces of his breeches.

He puts a hand on yours. "Darling?"

"Yes, honey?" you say, all innocent.

"Do you really think I don't know what you're doing?"

"What? Just because I'm pregnant means I can't give you a good time?"

"I didn't say that. I do know, however, that you have an ulterior motive in that clever head of yours."

"No motive!" you declare. "I just want to please you."

"Oh, I'm sure you do."

He lays back to the bed anyway, deciding to indulge you. This might be fun. Unlike how he was with you, you have no intention of going slowly, yanking his breeches and drawers away until his intimate area is all on show. Your touch makes his blood boil, but he refuses to succumb to the pleasure – because the moment he does, you'll pounce. And not in the way he wants.

You try your hardest, he'll admit. You know exactly what he likes, where to caress your thumb, when to speed up and slow down. You know his body as well as he does. Desire flowers deep in his navel, but he quashes it like crushing parchment in his fist.

"You know," he says nonchalantly, "you forgot to tie my hands."

"Don't need to."

"No?"

"I only want to please you tonight."

"So far I'm not convinced."

Your lips find him next – he lets out a groan as you slide him into your mouth, bobbing him in and out, eking out his pleasure, faster and faster. He grits his teeth, and a laugh bubbles hysterically from his lips.

"Oh, and now you're going to deny me the pinnacle. How original."

Slowly you pull him out. "I'm really trying to make you feel good!"

"It's adorable that you think you can use my own tricks against me. Is this really revenge for last time? You'll have to do better. It doesn't work if I expect it."

You're silent for a long time.

"What, no witty retort or battle cry? Or are you just annoyed I wasn't fooled for a single moment?"

The sigh that escapes you weighs heavy, like looming rain clouds, and when you stand and drift over to the bed edge, Ominis feels his heartstrings twang.

No, this is all an act. You are infuriatingly cute when you want to be, and it's a terrible trait of yours he's never been able to resist. Do not yield. His body disobeys, and he finds himself sitting up to listen to you speak.

"No, you're right... I was going to try and do the same thing you did to me, but... I just can't."

"Because you were caught," he says, raising his chin.

"Because I don't have it in me to play cruel tricks," you mumble.

Damn it. Another twang, this one stronger, making him want to pull you in for a hug. Ominis has always been protective of you, possessed with the natural inclination to keep you happy and safe. Perhaps it's in his nature, perhaps it's simply you, or perhaps it's everything you have been through together to get here, build this slice of peace in a desolate world. He physically feels his resolve crumbling, this petty rivalry between you over the last few months dissolving into a ghost of what it once was.

"I love you, darling," he says, and he caves, pulling you close, letting you tangle your fingers in his back. "That will never change, no matter what we name our child."

"I know."

"I didn't mean to insult you, I'm sorry. Have I taken our game too far?"

You sniffle. Merlin, tears? Now he feels really guilty.

"I just love you a lot, honey," you whisper into his chest. "I want our son to have the best name possible."

"He will."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

He feels something slide up his chest, and he moves to palm it – parchment. Briefly his fingers skim the top. Endymion. Drago. Magnus.

"Then here's a list of my favourites," you say brightly, all trace of sadness gone. "You pick one and let me know, okay?"

"Wait, what?"

You slide out of his embrace and skip out of the bedroom, humming.

You had him. Oh, you really had him.

"I'll get you back for this, darling!" he yells.

"No you won't!" you sing delightedly.

No, he won't.

Not yet, at least.

"You still haven't chosen a bloody name?"

One mild day in the buds of spring, when you're at an appointment with Healer Jules and he's covering the shift at the shop, Sebastian leans against the counter, sucking a lollipop and flicking through the Book of Wizard Names by Sudo Nym. Apparently he's grown a beard now. You say it looks distinguished; Ominis suspects it looks scruffy.

"No." He slams the till drawer shut with frustration. "She still refuses to acquiesce."

"You two have been at this for months now. Even I'm bored of it."

"Yes, well, we're stubborn."

"Brick walls are stubborn. You two are obstinate." The book shuts. "Can't you just name him Sebastian and be done with it? It's a good name to cover both wizard and Muggle ground."

"No." Ominis massages his face. "Did you know her compromise suggestions were place names? She argued Hangleton might appeal because it's a Muggle town and I was born there. Hangleton! And then she had the gall to suggest foreign places, too. She liked Florence."

"Florence? For a boy?" Sebastian laughs. "I guess you should be grateful she didn't suggest Hogsmeade."

God help him if you do. "I'm at my wit's end. Can you talk to her? Or can Missy?"

"Nice try, but that's all on you." He sighs, runs a hand down that distinguished-scruffy beard. "Here's an idea: you try convincing her the normal way, by explaining why the names you want are better than Endymion, Drago, Magnus and bloody Hangleton."

Should he even need to explain the absolute obvious? His chosen trio, William, Edward and Michael, are classic, understated and inoffensive. They blend seamlessly into both Muggle and wizard society. They don't raise eyebrows. Most importantly they don't make people choke back their laughter. Is it wrong to wish normality for his son? Ominis doesn't think it is. The more he blends in with his peers, the better.

But that's exactly what you don't like. You don't want anything absurd, granted, but there's an inherent magnificence to your chosen trio of names that he thinks will stick out far too much. You want him to have that wizard uniqueness that Ominis, a bearer of one such unique name, despises to the fiery pits of the earth.

It's an impasse. A stalemate. An unstoppable force meeting an immoveable object. And it will keep going until one of you stands down.

But Ominis refuses to give in.

"Whatever." Sebastian stretches, yawns, and takes a long slurp of his lollipop. "I hope you chose before the damn party, though."

Yes, the last hurrah before you're officially parents. It'll be a nice spring get-together with all your friends and family – Muggles and wizards alike. He was hoping to announce that you'd made a decision by then, but with the party days away, that goal seems impossible.

Unless someone yields... to public pressure.

"Oh no," says Sebastian, reading the calculation on Ominis' face. "What the hell are you planning now?"

A smile grows on his face.

It's harder than Ominis thought it would be to host a garden party. Especially when half the party are wizards.

The back garden is modest, only about ten metres long and as wide as the house. Varnished wood runs the perimeter in a rigid oblong, interrupted only by a gate at the back, which connects to a delivery road. A pavestone path lines the fence on the right, and the rest is simple lawn, freshly mowed for the occasion. A fair few people have come along to celebrate, and Ominis has had to discreetly clone more garden chairs to accommodate.

It's quite a strange sensation, to have the two communities come together, the merging of magical and Muggle. The last time he felt this jarred was his wedding. He's told his magical friends and colleagues to behave, and they know the laws, of course, but he's still wary Pimlico will forget that Auror is called the police here, or that Garreth will spike the Pimms with gigglewater.

You waddle outside, holding a tray of empty glasses with one hand and cradling your belly with the other. Ominis hurries to take it from you, lays it on the outdoor table.

"Don't strain yourself, darling."

"Am not," you say, but you wince. "Baby's just being wriggly."

"Takes after his mother," he says fondly.

He fetches you a chair and you sink gratefully into it. Less than a month until the due date, and now mostly you complain about your aching back and breasts, and swollen, sore feet. He's taken on a significant portion of the housework to assuage the physical load on your shoulders, even though you claim it's easy enough to wave your wand. He must ensure there is nothing for you to stress about; it is his sworn duty.

Your parents come over. Since their second grandchild's announcement, they've been fussing over you and your health, and Ominis too, offering to cook him things or take extra shifts at the confectionery. He politely rejects them all, although he can't begin to express how grateful he is to have family who truly cares. After all these years, the feeling is still novel and beautiful.

"Cake's ready," says your mother, with a strange pitch to her voice. "Ominis, sweetheart, have you sat down once since the guests arrived? Even hosts must rest."

"I'm about to fry another batch of pork sausages," he says, waving their concern away. "Leander and Jacob keep inhaling them all."

Your father coughs gruffly and lowers his voice. "You can't have your... magic thingamajig do that?"

"It doesn't work like that, Papa," you say, exasperated.

"Truly, it's good to keep busy," Ominis says. "I'm fine, I promise. And thank you both for the cake."

Your father makes another gruff noise and looks away. Your mother touches his shoulder with affection – but her lips curl. She sounds like you when she's hiding a secret. "You're welcome, son. I've brought it down to the stockroom for easy access. Do you need us to do anything else?"

"Only one thing – what time is it?"

"Ah..." Your father pulls out his pocket watch. "Just gone two."

He smiles. Plenty of time.

The party continues in full swing. Many bring presents, although unnecessary, for the baby, books and toys and clothes. Ominis stores them in the house to unwrap later. Sebastian starts a round of croquet, a snug corkscrew of hoops within the limited space; Missy gets competitive against him, along with another one of your friends, Jane, and Nell from the local church. He tops up the sausages as you mingle and let people touch your bump. A surge of affection runs through him when he hears you laugh. It's been difficult, but still you embrace every moment with incandescent joy and gratefulness.

At about half-past, he finds you and peels you free from your host duties, finding a moment to share a brief kiss in the stockroom.

"What's this for?" you ask.

He hums idly, slides his hand between yours and squeezes. "Simply appreciation for you. Shall we bring the cake out?"

"So early?" you say. "If you really want to do it now."

"Why wouldn't I want to do it now?"

You don't answer. You only beckon him to the shelf, where you parents have left the cake ready to go.

Except – it's not one cake. It's three.

Strange. What on earth would you need three cakes for? You have a sweet tooth, yes, but this is excessive. You stifle a giggle, deep in your throat, and suspicion laps across his contentment as a wave rinses the beach.

"Something the matter?" you ask – again, that twinkle.

It triggers more doubt. Three. It's not just a cute, satisfying number. Three has meaning.

"What have you done?"

You sing-song, "Nothing!" and fit the cakes onto the trolley. "Help me take this outside."

Arm woven with yours, he wheels the trolley out to the garden. As the guests make a hole, delighted noises cut deeper into him, as loud as a chorus of warning bells. Wordlessly he helps you to table all three cakes.

They are not plainly decorated, like you said they would be.

"These cakes," you announce, "are named after three of the names Ominis and I are deciding upon!"

A stone drops into his gullet.

You didn't. You wouldn't.

"The Endymion cake," you gesture to the first "is a delicious blueberry and lemon."

He goes rigid. You have.

"The Drago cake is chocolate," you say about the second, "and this last cake, the Magnus, is Victoria sponge. Don't worry, you won't forget which one is which, because I've iced the names on the top."

The guests clap and clamour around, arming themselves with plates and forks. In the midst of it all, Ominis stands utterly still, reeling in the total loss of the moment – the loss of words, the loss of momentum, the loss of the fight, practically smoke in his fingers. You have announced your three names in such a public way, that for him to deny them now would be social catastrophe.

You truly are conniving, truly are clever. It's irresistibly hot, albeit infuriating, how you have bested him.

His grip on the walking stick tenses. You giggle and yammer to the guests, but he can feel your eyes on him, triumphant and smug with the victory.

But it will be short-lived.

You meander your way towards him at the buffet table, plate in hand, slices from all three cakes piled on top.

"Would you like some cake, husband?"

"I shan't partake, wife," he says coolly. "However," he leans down, just for you, "if you're not careful I might like to ravish you instead."

You shudder, and it's delicious. "For winning?"

"For coming so close to outwitting me. It's very attractive, I'll admit."

"Oh, Ominis," you pet his arm, "you can't even hope to beat this."

"My sweet," he responds, "I don't need to hope. I know."

"Look!" calls Gertrude, in sudden shock and awe. "What's that in the sky?"

She points, and as the party follows her gaze, Ominis instead pours himself a large glass of Pimms. Perfectly timed, as he is wont to be. Drawn towards them on a generous breeze, the great amorphous shapes floating from the north become an enormous hot-air balloon – three enormous hot-air balloons, dyed a rich blue like upside-down teardrops, with his chosen names, William, Edward and Michael, sewn in bold letters vertically down each parachute.

As realisation of the balloons' purpose sweeps the party, cheers erupt from the guests. Your Muggle friends clap, your wizard friends raise wine glasses and toast. In that moment he wishes he could see, if only to steep in the delicious shock-horror that has unhinged your jaw.

"You—" You swing to face him, positively puffed up. "You—!"

Ominis smiles and sips his Pimms.

"Me."

You tense up, like you're about to scream, but instead you pull his collar down.

"You copied my idea."

"I had no notion what you were doing. Perhaps you copied me."

"I didn't know you were doing that either!" You scowl. "You're lucky you're hot when you're being evil."

"Should I take this as acquiescence?"

You kiss his nose quickly, and smile.

"No."

Blast. How could that not have worked? His idea is bold, dramatic, inviting in its grandiosity. Your idea is quaint in comparison!

But his mistake comes through him in a cold prickle. If the cakes have names and the balloons have names, and both were displayed practically at the same time, then all the guests are going to think the spectacle planned. Worse, they're going to think it a game. He scolds himself. Foolish Ominis. If only he'd known of your attempted sabotage before he brought the cakes out. If only he'd listened to his instincts beforehand!

He makes another round of polite chatter, listening to the guests obliviously speculate on which of the six will be chosen. He can barely focus on anything else that's said. After everything, all the work he's done, all the favours he called in and the money he paid in such a short amount of time – and still you have not been swayed.

And after all the work you put in, too, neither has he.

You remain as you are, as he does. An impasse. A stalemate. An unstoppable force and an immoveable object.

Sebastian is right. You are both so stubborn.

And if that was his last try to change your mind, what is he supposed to do now?

Ominis' son arrives early.

Neither of you are expecting it. Both of you are tired, you from a particularly hard day running the shop, him from a particularly hard day running Auror errands, so you're settled into the sofa with your embroidery as Ominis tidies the house. Your due date is in a week – far enough away that it looms, but not with immediate panic.

Suddenly you go rigid and sit up.

"Oops."

"Hmm?" he asks idly. "Something the matter?"

"I think I've just had a little tinkle," you say sheepishly. "Bit embarrassing, but don't worry, I'll clean it up."

Ominis faces to you at once.

"Darling," he says, "have you been feeling incremental pains in your belly?"

"Well, yes, but I think it's just that stew we ate. I told you the meat was off."

Merlin's beard. "You didn't pee. That's your water breaking."

"My— ohhhh." You laugh suddenly. "Well, thank goodness for that! Here I thought I wet myself!"

He doesn't even have the time to facepalm. He's grabbing his emergency away bag, ramming some shoes onto your feet, and Apparating you to St Mungos. All thoughts about baby names and underhand attempts to change your mind evaporate when you go into the labour ward, whimpering about how much more frequent and painful the contractions have become.

"Would you like to stay with your wife during labour?" asks Healer Jules. "I understand if not. It can be quite stressful."

"Of course I will," Ominis says, offended at the very notion.

It takes some time until your body is fully ready, but before long Jules and the other healers start the birthing process, encouraging you to push in time with your contractions. He squeezes your hand all throughout. Eventually they feed some potion down your throat to dowse the pain, but it also makes you a little delirious. At one point you seize his shirt and yank him inches from your face.

"You will never put that thing of yours inside me ever again!"

"Y-Yes dear," he says, nonplussed.

Even with the potion, you shriek and scream and cry, sounding like you're been in the worst pain you've ever experienced, worse than Crucio, worse than the curse. It makes him feel guilty and helpless, but he knows all he can really do to help is be there.

"I-I can't... I can't do it..."

"Yes you can, darling. You're doing really well. Keep pushing."

He thinks of the many nights you tried to get pregnant, the many days spent in disappointment when your monthly bleeds came. He thinks about the minor spats over baby names and what colour to paint the room and which house you think he'll be in at Hogwarts. He thinks of the small joys, assembling the crib, completing the knitted blanket, the excitement, the anticipation of becoming a family of three. All of it strengthens Ominis at your bedside, all of it gives him hope as you continue to push.

And soon, before he realises it, a baby cries.

It's the most wonderful sound in the world.

"Congratulations," says Jules. "A beautiful baby boy."

Jules cleans him up and swaddles him in cloth, then hands him to you. Ominis can't quite manage to catch his breath, nor tame his racing heart. You're parents now. He's a father.

"Do you want to hold him, Ominis?" you ask.

His hands tremble when he accepts the child – his child – into his arms. You adjust the hold so the baby is comfortable, mewling and squirming and a bundle of warmth. Carefully he reaches around to feel his little face, the tiny nose and cute lips and the very wet tuft of hair sprouting on the centre of his smooth head.

"Hello, little one," he says, grinning so widely it hurts. "I'm your papa."

"He looks just like you."

"Really?" Ominis almost laughs. "He sounds just like you."

You laugh – and it's up there with the most beautiful sounds. He can't describe how deep the gratitude goes for you, for carrying and birthing the child. Despite everything you've gone through, all the disagreements and the pain and the loss, he knows you'll both be okay.

"You may still experience some contractions before the placenta comes out," Jules says softly, after cutting the cord. "But I will give you five minutes."

The healers leave you in peace, and Ominis knows. It really is time now.

Time to choose a name.

In the silence, he thumbs the baby's little hand, relishing the smoothness of his skin and trying to think of a name he likes that suits. William, Edward, Michael... Every choice runs through his head, but now that his son is here, in physical being... none of them are perfect.

"I don't think he looks like an Endymion," you mumble quietly. "Or a Drago, or a Magnus ..."

They seem too grand, too garish, for the boy, but loath as he is to admit, his choices are too plain for his son too. Ominis tickles his stomach, delighting when the baby wiggles.

"Nor any of mine," he admits. "That leaves us rather without a name though."

"Yeah..." The baby gurgles. "Let me?"

He passes his son back to you. "After all that, and we still can't decide."

"Gosh, we should be able to just pick one, don't you think? There are billions of names... surely there must be one we both like."

When Jules returns, you are sitting in a scrunched sort of silence, as if every word that wants to be spoken feels crumpled and unworthy of the occasion, of the decision.

"If it's all right," he says calmly, "I'd like to run a few routine checks to ensure the baby's health."

You nod, passing the boy over. His eyes are squeezed shut, yet the corner of his lips twitch as Jules beams over him.

"This might tickle, little one," he coos, wiggling his wand over the child's belly. Mumbling spells too long and complicated for Ominis to understand, the boy instantly relaxes, as if that soothing voice is a balm for agitation. After a moment, Jules passes him back to you. "Preliminary checks seem good, I can detect no issues. He's a very healthy boy."

Something shifts deep in Ominis' chest. It feels as though lightning has struck.

"Thank you," he croaks.

"It's my pleasure," Jules assures. "Is everything all right?"

"Could we—?" You seem to compose yourself. "Please can we have a little more time alone?"

"Of course."

Jules exits again, leaving you both on a precipice that pulls taut as thread.

Ominis is the first to fall.

"Jules is a nice name."

"I was thinking that too," you murmur. "It's not too Muggle."

"Nor too wizard."

"Not very common."

"Sounds nice."

"Named after someone exemplary we know."

"But very pronounceable."

"Ominis." You laugh suddenly. "Did we just agree on a name?"

He reaches out both hands – the first, touching yours, the second, a finger, being grasped gently by his new-born son, Jules.

"I... think we did."

Fin.

Please like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed <3

Masterlist | My oneshots

When Ominis Gaunt fell in love, he fell slowly. 

It was all the little things she did—the little things that made up who she was. Her kindness. Her patience. Her touch. 

Before meeting her, touch meant nothing but pain. It was kicking and screaming as his mother dragged him along by his arm, harsh shoves from uncaring hands toppling to the ground, a cruel hand curled over his own, taking any control he might have and forcing a curse out of him. 

He’d been avoiding it ever since. Even Sebastian and Anne knew his aversion, careful not to grab him or brush against him. 

But somehow, she made his walls come tumbling down. 

-

Perhaps he started to fall that first time she saved him a seat at breakfast. 

It was one of the first breakfasts of their sixth year—the Great Hall was bustling, students running back and forth to catch up with friends and share adventures from over the summer. That was exactly what Sebastian was doing; he could hear his friend’s loud laugh as he spoke to someone at the Hufflepuff table. He’d expected her to be doing the same, her popularity as the Hero of Hogwarts was unmatched. Surely everyone would want to know what she’d been up to. 

He’d just settled on the idea of grabbing an apple off the table and leaning against the wall well out of harm’s way when a voice called out to him. Her voice. 

“Ominis! Ominis, right here, I’ve saved a seat for you!” 

His mouth fell open—just slightly. “You… you saved a seat…?” 

“Yes, now get over here before Sebastian barrels past and steals it, I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said, smile obvious in her voice. 

And so he obliged. 

He settled down on the bench, all thoughts of retreating to some far corner vanishing as she began to rattle on about her summer. In turn, he answered all her questions about his own time, best he could with the way his head was spinning. Of everyone in the school, she had saved a spot for him. She allowed him to take all her time, steal away every morsel of her attention. There was a lightness that came with that thought. A warm feeling he couldn’t quite name—not yet. 

But now that he’d felt it, he knew he’d starve for it. 

-

The next step into his descent was the first time she placed her hand on his arm. 

Herbology was always a bit chaotic—not nearly as much as Potions, no thanks to a certain Gryffindor—but chaotic nonetheless. Professor Garlick had laid out all the necessary tools and supplies on each table, and after her brief explanation on how to prune and shape the plants in front of them, she set them loose. 

Sebastian stood to Ominis’s right, grabbing some small cutters and starting on his plant quickly. 

“Sebastian, you’re making a mess of it already. She said to start from the top and go down, didn’t you hear a word she just said?” a voice said from his left. 

Ominis chuckled. “Since when has Sebastian ever been one to listen to anything?” He reached forward, grabbing his own cutters. He heard his friend grumble under his breath. “Don’t pout, you know I’m right.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not offended by it,” Sebastian said. 

“You’re offended by everything, Seb,” she said. 

“What is this? Attack Sebastian Sallow Day?” 

“No, but I’d be an avid celebrator if there was such a thing.” 

As Sebastian continued mumbling complaints, he felt it—her hand, just barely resting on his arm. “Sorry,” she said softly, leaning forward and across the table. “I’m just grabbing the fertilizer.” And then her touch was gone. 

It was nothing. Just a simple indication that she was there, making sure a blind man didn’t accidentally stab her with a sharp object. And yet it felt… different, somehow. His skin was tingling as he tried to resume his work with the plant. It was only later he realized that, unlike so many times others had made a similar motion, he hadn’t flinched or pulled away. 

In spite of himself, he sort of wished she would do it again. 

-

He came to a realization the first time she explained a Quidditch match to him. 

The realization was thus—she was even more kind than anyone he’d ever met. It was her very first match, and she had been elated to attend after Professor Black had announced the continuation of the sport at the beginning of the year. Normally, Ominis wouldn’t care too much about it. He rarely went to matches in previous years, only being dragged along by Sebastian when Slytherin was up in the running to take the cup. Crowds weren’t his thing. And trying to understand anything that was going on based solely off the oohing and ahhing of a crowd gave him a headache. But this year, Sebastian was making his debut as Slytherin’s Keeper, and that paired with her excitement to see the match was enough to draw him out to the stands. 

They sat next to each other, nestled into the crowd of Slytherins eagerly anticipating the game. He could only imagine how high up they were—there had been plenty of stairs to indicate it was nothing insignificant. The breeze that high up was cooler, and Ominis was grateful for it, allowing himself to focus on it instead of the people pressing in all around him. 

But when the match started, his focus shifted entirely to the soft voice next to him. 

In the past, he had always found the commentary on the match entirely unhelpful, and even more uninteresting. He could never get a picture of what was going on—the announcer would always press opinions on players and use the names of the different plays, which was ridiculous because Ominis had no clue what any of the plays meant. 

She, on the other hand, explained it all wonderfully. 

She wasn’t perfect—not even close, stumbling over words and gasping at times when an action surprised her. But for the first time, Ominis could follow. He found himself cheering, breath catching as he heard the whoosh of a broom overhead. The tone and expression in her voice was so lively, so dedicated, he wanted to take part in it. 

“Weasley’s flying fast toward the goals,” she commented. “Blimey, he should be Seeker with that speed. Imelda’s flown into his path, he’s going to crash—No, he dodged her, straight over her head—he’s throwing the Quaffle, come on Seb—YES!” 

He let out a cry of celebration as his friend beside him whooped and hollered, cheering loudly for Sebastian. It wasn’t long until they won the match, and the crowd of Slytherins roared like a raging sea. He followed her out of the stands and into the common room, where a party was already commencing. Sebastian managed to break away from his adoring fans. The Hero of Hogwarts leapt up and nearly pushed him over in a wild embrace. Sebastian laughed. 

“You were wonderful out there!” she said, pulling away. 

Ominis could hear the grin in his friend’s voice. “I couldn’t let your first match be a disappointment, now could I?” His feet shifted, turning to Ominis. “And really, Ominis, thank you for coming. I know Quidditch isn’t your favorite.”

“If I’m honest, I rather enjoyed myself,” he said. He nodded his head toward her beside him. “This one has a knack for explaining the game. She told me enough that I can sincerely say, well played.” 

“Then seems like you’ll have to go to all of the matches together,” Sebastian said. 

Ominis frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t want to impose on—”

“No, I like that idea,” she said. His heart beat a bit faster. “I want you to be able to enjoy it just as much as the rest of us, Ominis.” 

He couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night. When Sebastian asked about it, he blamed it on having too much Butterbeer.

-

When he let her lead him by his arm that very first time, he knew he trusted her. 

He’d known for a while—but now, through his actions, he had admitted it to her. To himself. 

Winter had set in. The two of them left the Three Broomsticks, bundled up and ready for the cold. He reached for his wand, pausing when he heard her speak up beside him. 

“Your hand is going to freeze holding it out like that all the way to the castle. I can lead you, if you’d like.” 

He pondered it for a moment—only a moment—and then he gave in. 

“If you think it’ll keep me from getting frostbite.” 

He sucked in a breath as her arm looped around his. How had she done it so gently? After a second, when he’d begun to breathe properly, he nodded. “Off we go, then.” 

It was strange, how he had surrendered so easily. When he had first gotten his wand, the world finally felt livable. He no longer had to shuffle around, arms outstretched, waiting for his brothers to jump out at him. He could fend for himself. Prove his independence. There was no longer a need to rely on anyone. 

Why did he rely so effortlessly on her? 

The truth came to him with a sudden thought as she took him through the streets, navigating expertly through the throng of students returning to the castle. He trusted her. She had always looked out for him. Cared when he felt no one else did. She made efforts to be around him, to involve him, even when he tried to push away. Ominis Gaunt did not trust easily. But she had proved herself worthy of that sentiment in every turn. 

The slight tug of her arm in his jolted him back to that moment. “We’re at the stairs,” she said quietly. “There’s six of them.” 

He’d trust her with his life. 

They seemed to walk closer and closer together as the castle drew nearer. It was the cold, he told himself. Just the instinctual craving for warmth drawing their sides together. Simple as that. 

But they still walked arm in arm through the halls of Hogwarts, leaving the excuse of the chill and snow far behind them. 

-

The first time she held his hand, he finally felt alive. 

Their sixth years had come to a close and the Hogwarts Express was waiting to take them home. They’d spend the last few months in what he considered bliss. They stopped looking for excuses to take each other's arms at some point—just letting it happen. Strolls on the castle ground. Between classes. Anywhere and everywhere they went together. Sebastian teased them a bit at the action, but Ominis claimed it was just easier than using his wand. He didn’t have to concentrate on a spell while walking about. It was true—but really, it hadn’t been inconvenient the five years before that, had it?

But now his dear friend gave a low sigh beside him. “This crowd is awful,” she said, glowering at the students around them. “I don’t know how we’re going to make it on the train in time.” 

“I’m sure we’ll be—” 

He stopped mid sentence, feeling her fingers interlock with his. 

“I think I see a path, come on now.” 

She nearly tipped him over as she pulled him along. He managed to remember how to walk just in time to catch himself, allowing her to lead him through the hustle and bustle around them. How did this feel so entirely different than being led by her arm? How could he only focus on how soft the skin of her knuckles felt under his thumb? How could he feel like he was dreaming, but never felt more aware in the same moment?

They stopped in front of the train, doors open before them. She didn’t let go. Neither did he. But the train let out a whistle, and the sound brought him back in an instant. Their hands dropped, and the loss of the intimate feeling of her fingers between his knocked the air out him like the perfect Depulso. 

“We made it,” she said softly. 

“Barely.” 

She laughed. He might as well have been a fish for how much he was struggling to breathe. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, voice softening. 

“I wish I could say the same,” he said, smirking. He felt her hit his arm, stifling a laugh.

“You’re awful.”

“You’re the one who laughed.” 

“Goodbye, Ominis,” she said, still chuckling. After a moment, she spoke again, a little quieter. “I’ll write you.”

His stomach flipped. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Then she was gone, taking part of him with her.

-

He knew he was in love the moment he got her first letter. 

What was it some fool had once said? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? What a load of dung. 

Absence made the heart ache so much it nearly killed him. And it had only been a day. 

He knew it was from her the moment the lingering scent of her perfume hit him. He smiled. She kept her word—he had never doubted she would. He was just relieved she had done so so soon. 

Quickly, he pulled out his wand and transfigured the words on the parchment, running his fingers over them. He paused where she had written his name. Every letter filled him with warmth as he poured over the short letter. 

Dear Ominis,

I realize we only saw each other yesterday, but I wanted to assure you it wasn’t an empty promise when I said I would write you. 

I really don’t have too much to share—my mother was more than pleased to see me, of course. Wailed when I came home as if I’d come back from the dead. She’s still not used to me being away for so long. I’ve just begun unpacking, and honestly, it just makes me wish I was back at Hogwarts with you and Sebastian. 

How are you? I do hope you’re alright. I worry about you going home, you know. I can’t help it. I’ll be inviting both you and Sebastian to my home as soon as I’m settled in—please do survive until then. 

Yours,

He closed his eyes as he felt her name beneath his fingertips. She was worried about him. She’d be inviting him. The warmth and elation he felt was so unlike the cold halls that surrounded him. He could survive—he’d do it for her. 

How she could make him feel happiness—hope—in a house so tainted with pain was beyond him. He never would he have thought he could have a moment of something good there, a memory worth keeping after he abandoned the place. 

Finally, he had a name for that warmth, the one that overtook him every time she crossed his thoughts. Love. Deep, profound, and lasting. It was more than he could have imagined, overwhelming and pure. How could he have lived to this point without it? 

He read the letter once more before pulling out his quill and beginning to write. 

-

The first time he thought she might feel the same coincided with the first time she laid her head on his shoulder. 

She had kept yet another of her promises. It was only a couple of weeks before he was off to her house, finally free from the suffocating marble halls of the manor. His escape lasted only for ten days, but it gave him what he needed to keep going. 

Though being with her was definitely what fueled him the most. 

Laughing with her and Sebastian made the stress of being around his parents melt off of him much faster than he would have imagined. Their ten days had been full of exploring the woods around her house, of playing Gobstones, of laying in fields and telling old stories. 

Ten days of her hand brushing his as they sat together. Ten days of catching his breath when she spoke. Ten days of falling harder than he ever thought possible.

Because now that he knew what it was he was feeling, it was there in everything she did. He was drowning in it, and he’d stay under with a smile on his face. 

Sebastian bid them farewell on that final evening. Ominis would be gone back home in the morning—he tried desperately to push that thought away, focusing instead on spending every moment with her he could. They’d wandered to the overgrown park not far from her home, coming to rest on a bench hidden away in the trees. Crickets sang around them, and Ominis basked in the cool summer night by her side. 

“Are you going to be ok when you go back?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. 

He gave a small smile, one he hoped was reassuring. “I’ve lived this long. Two more months will be nothing.”

She sighed. “It won’t be a full two months. I’ll make sure of it. If you can’t come here again, we’ll go to Sebastian’s.”

“You worry about me too much.” 

“I think I worry just enough,” she stated simply. 

Her words made his chest time. How could he ever begin to explain what they meant to him? She cared for him. It was enough to shatter him if he let it. He couldn’t say what he wanted to—not yet. He’d find a way, someday. But he told her what he could by reaching for her hand, locking their fingers together. And when she leaned into his side, head coming to rest on his shoulder, maybe, maybe, that was her way of saying she understood. 

His stiff body slowly relaxed against hers, and he thought about nothing but the slow draws of her breath, the way her hair tickled against his jaw, the love he felt for the angel of the girl sitting pressed against him. 

-

The first time she held him he fell apart. 

Their little trio had stayed up late in celebration of their last school year, playing Exploding Snap well into the night. The Undercroft echoed their joyous sounds as the hours passed by, until Sebastian pulled himself away, saying he wanted to pay a visit to the Restricted Section for old time’s sake. It wasn’t long until she and Ominis were saying their goodnights to each other. 

It had been a perfect last first day, exactly what he’d needed after spending so much time at the manor. He’d left for what he was determined to be the last time. There was no better way to celebrate. 

He could think of no better way of ending it than saying goodnight to the girl he loved. 

“Goodnight,” he said softly, a small smile on his lips. 

“God, I missed you,” she breathed. “Goodnight, Ominis.” 

But before he could open the door, her arms wrapped around his chest. 

The result was immediate. His heart raced, and his throat grew tight. He couldn’t breath—how could he, with her holding him so tightly? Her head was against his chest, and for a split second he was afraid she might pull away when she heard the pound of it. It was that moment of fear that brought his arms around her, holding her to him like he had nothing left. 

It felt like dying when she pulled away from him. She sucked in a breath. “Ominis, are you alright?”

“What… what do you—”

“You’re crying.”

She was right. He felt the tears, now, traitorously running down his face. He quickly brought up the sleeve of his robe to wipe them away. 

“Is it something I did? I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He took a shuddering breath. “I just… You’re the first person who’s ever…” 

Ever what? There were a million ways he could finish that sentence, and all would be true. The first who had ever held me. The first who has ever cared so deeply. The first to touch him with nothing but kindness. She was the first person to break down his walls, to give him life, to let him love and be loved. 

Somehow, she seemed to understand his silence. She took him into her arms once more, and he let himself come crashing down. Sobs worked their way through—both sadness and joy mingled together in an utter mess of emotion. How could he have gone his whole life without this? Without feeling safe, without outstretched arms to run to? But he had found it. A person he could call his home, who would hold him when he fell apart. He was grateful. So grateful. 

They never went back up to their dorms that night.

-

He was determined today would be the first time he kissed her. 

Since that night in the Undercroft, every touch between them felt natural. Part of their beings. He came to her effortlessly, letting his arms pull her to him. His hand felt foreign when it wasn’t in hers. But yet, he had yet to confess the depths of his feelings for her. 

He knew exactly why—she was patient. They’d started this whole thing nearly two years ago now. She’d always gone at his pace, waiting for him to be ready for each new step. They didn’t need to say the words. It was obvious to both of them. But Merlin, he wanted to. 

She needed to know just how much she meant to him. The joy she brought into his life without even trying. It had been a long time coming, but now, he was ready.

He’d taken her out to Hogsmeade. It was the perfect spring day—cool breeze carrying the scent of Butterbeer clear out of the Three Broomsticks. The sun was just beginning to set, and they were on course to return to the castle when he stopped her. 

“Could I take you somewhere?” he said softly. 

“Of course,” she said, a little perplexed. He smiled, taking out his wand to guide the both of them, other hand still in hers. He led them down a path, then turned sharply into the woods. The trail he followed was light barely there, mostly grown over by foliage. But he heard the sound of the creek and knew he was close. 

The trees gave way into a small opening, the melody of water trickling just beyond it. He smiled. 

“It’s lovely,” she said. 

“Good. I hoped it would be.” His wand returned to his pocket, and he took both her hands, facing her. 

It was her turn for her breath to catch. It was only fair after all the times he’d done so because of her. Did he look as lovesick as he felt? 

“You are everything to me, do you know that?” he said softly. His hand reached up, following the curve of her neck up to her jaw, where it came to rest. “Everything.”

“Ominis…” 

The way she breathed his name sent shivers through him. And her breath on his lips—Merlin, how had he waited so long?

“I love you.” 

He didn’t give her a chance to respond—he’d let her say it soon enough. But he needed to prove himself to her, show her just what he meant when he said everything. His lips came crashing down against hers, and at that moment he decided every second not spent kissing her was a second wasted. Like everything about her, she was gentle. She was warm. She was soft. Like everything about her, he couldn’t get enough. He thought he’d give her a chaste kiss, but he was only a man, and a starving one at that. 

He only pulled away when his lungs felt like they would burst, and his chest heaved under her resting hand. 

“I love you,” she said, voice hoarse. “God, I love you.” 

He decided that night would be the second time he kissed her, too. 

Study sessions like this had become the norm for the three of you in seventh year. What used to be lively gatherings filled with procrastination and teasing in years past had quieted into focused companionship, the looming specter of N.E.W.T.s demanding most of your attention. Tonight was no different.

Ominis seemed, as always, the picture of calm. His steady fingers brushed the braille of his book, the other hand resting neatly in his lap. But beneath his composed exterior, his thoughts were fraying. Sitting this close to you, with the faint scent of your shampoo wrapping around him, your shoulder occasionally brushing his own, he was hopelessly distracted.

It was maddening, really, how easily you unraveled him—how the simple press of your body against his own could splinter his focus into something delicate and dangerous. Because the truth was, Ominis rarely wanted to touch anyone at all.

Touch was not something he easily welcomed. His family had made sure of that—cold, distant, cruel as they were, touch had only ever been associated with pain or control. Even with his friends, Ominis had never been particularly tactile. The exceptions had been Sebastian and Anne, the only ones who had ever felt safe enough to let close. And then, of course, there was you.

You, who had never asked permission outright, but whose touch had never been unwelcome. You, who reached for him in passing—soft brushes of your fingers against his sleeve when you wanted his attention, the warm press of your palm to his arm when laughter had made you lean into him, the absentminded way you tucked his hair behind his ear when he was too deep in thought to notice it falling forward. He had never stopped you.

He never wanted to.

Because the truth he could never voice—perhaps even to himself—was that he was painfully, desperately touch-starved. And when it came to you, your touch was the most desirable of all.

It was getting harder to pretend it didn’t affect him. Harder to keep himself from leaning into it, from seeking it out. Harder to ignore the way his heart beat faster whenever you shifted closer, the way his fingers itched to reach for you in return.

This was just studying. Just work. He told himself that over and over again.

But the longer you read, the slower your movements became, and Ominis didn’t miss the way your shoulder leaned just a little more heavily into his. At first, it was subtle—your head dipping slightly, then snapping back up. A small shift, barely noticeable. But then it happened again. And again.

Ominis barely had time to register what was happening before you gave in entirely, your head resting against his shoulder with a sigh so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

His entire body locked up.

Oh. Oh.

He didn’t dare move. He didn’t even breathe. His brain, usually sharp and composed, blanked completely, drowned out by the deafening drum of his heartbeat in his ears. Your weight was warm and solid against him, pressing into his side in a way that sent his thoughts spiraling.

Surely this was a mistake. You were tired. You hadn’t meant to—

Then you shifted again, tilting, your warmth slipping lower.

And before he could even begin to process what was happening, your head slipped from his shoulder entirely, settling against his lap.

Ominis nearly had a heart attack.

The book in his hands slipped from his fingers, landing on the couch beside him with a dull thud. His breath caught so sharply in his throat that he thought he might choke on it. Every muscle in his body tensed so violently that he might as well have been Petrified.

Your head. Was in. His lap.

His brain was screaming. His body was screaming. His entire existence was screaming.

The soft press of your cheek against his thigh burned hotter than fiendfyre, and he was terrified to move even a fraction of an inch, as if any shift might wake you—or worse, alert you to what you’d done.

A chair scraped against the stone floor, the sharp sound slicing through his unraveling thoughts. Ominis didn’t need to see Sebastian to know that he had just turned, and, judging by the way the air shifted, was now staring.

“Well, well,” Sebastian mused, and Ominis could hear the smirk in his voice. “Look at that.”

“Don’t,” Ominis hissed, his voice sharp but barely above a whisper. His entire being was already on the verge of short-circuiting, and Sebastian Sallow’s commentary was the last thing he needed.

Sebastian made a thoughtful sound, far too amused for Ominis’ liking. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so… flustered,” he drawled, clearly relishing every second of this. “It’s adorable, really.”

Ominis’ hands hovered uselessly in his lap, his fingers twitching, aching to move, but paralyzed by the sheer catastrophe of the situation.

“Sebastian,” Ominis bit out a warning, his voice low and laced with something dangerously close to desperation.

Sebastian, of course, did not care.

The scrape of his chair echoed again as he stood, his footsteps far too leisurely as he strolled across the room.

“So,” Sebastian continued, his voice all casual-like as he stood over where Ominis sat on the couch. “Have you told her yet?”

Ominis’s stomach plummeted. His head whipped toward Sebastian, his pale eyes narrowing in immediate alarm. “Told her what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know,” Sebastian said breezily, tone far too innocent to be anything but dangerous. “How you feel. How you’ve been pining for her for years, how the mere sound of her laugh sends you spiraling, how you—”

“Sebastian,” Ominis hissed, his entire body going rigid as heat flared up his neck, spreading fast. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if gripping onto whatever composure he had left. “Will you shut up?!” His voice dropped to a hushed, frantic whisper, sheer panic creeping in. “What if she hears you?!”

Sebastian snorted. “Trust me, she’s not hearing anything right now. She’s completely out.” A pause. Then, far too smugly, “Although, if she was awake, this would make for a fascinating conversation.”

Ominis groaned softly, dragging a trembling hand down his face. He couldn’t do this right now—he couldn’t. His mind was already in tatters, barely keeping him together beneath the searing weight of you pressed against him. His heart was hammering so hard he was convinced it was audible, each heavy beat a taunting reminder of just how doomed he was.

“Look—”

“I am looking,” Sebastian interrupted, entirely unrepentant. “And she looks very comfortable. Entirely content, all cozied up in your lap like that.” His voice dipped into mock sympathy. “Honestly, I think she’s found her new favorite spot. Looks like you’re stuck here, mate.”

Ominis’ lips parted, but nothing came out. His thoughts were too much—too loud, too scattered, an impossible mess of holy hell what do I do and I can’t move I can’t move I can’t move.

Sebastian, because he was insufferable, only continued.

“And look at you,” he mused, his tone brimming with pure mischief. “All flustered and red in the face—Merlin’s beard, Ominis, her face is practically on your di—”

“Enough!” Ominis snapped, his voice a desperate whisper, his entire body burning. His hands hovered uselessly above his lap, fingers twitching, aching to do something—anything—but he didn’t dare move. He turned his head away sharply, as if that might somehow shield him from Sebastian’s relentless torment.

Sebastian laughed, warm and unbothered. “Relax, Ominis. I’m only joking.” A beat. “Mostly.”

Ominis wanted to die.

Sebastian sighed, entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, I suppose I could be a decent friend and leave you to your little—” he waved a hand vaguely, “—situation.”

Ominis felt the shift in the air as Sebastian moved, as Ominis heard the the lazy, purposeful way he strolled toward the exit. Finally.

But then—panic struck. He had no idea how long he'd be down here, now idea how long he'd be unable to move.

“Wait,” Ominis blurted, his voice sharper than he intended, but still quiet, tinged with something between resignation and pleading.

Sebastian paused. “Hmm?”

Ominis hesitated. He hated the way his fingers twitched at his sides, how stupidly vulnerable he felt, trapped in this moment, utterly helpless beneath the weight of something he wanted—ached for—but could not handle.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain even. “Could you… bring me something from dinner?”

Sebastian was silent.

For a moment, Ominis thought his friend was about to pounce on his uncharacteristic uncertainty, dig into it, use it to fluster him even more.

But then Sebastian chuckled, softer this time. Genuine.

“Of course,” he said, still teasing but gentler now. “Anything for the lap-bound prince.”

Ominis clenched his jaw. “I hate you.”

Sebastian only hummed, entirely unfazed. “I’ll make sure it’s something easy to eat,” he added, far too cheerfully. “Wouldn’t want you disturbing her.”

Ominis groaned, his face burning all over again. “Just go.”

With one last low chuckle, Sebastian finally turned and stepped out, the door creaking closed behind him.

Silence fell over the Undercroft once more.

Ominis exhaled a breath, but it did little to steady him. His thoughts were racing, still frayed beyond reason.

And you—blissfully unaware, still peacefully asleep in his lap—remained the greatest, most tormenting comfort of all.

Every part of him was acutely aware of you. It was overwhelming, like he’d been plunged into a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake from.

His fingers twitched at his side, his hand hovering uselessly in the air before retreating back to the couch, clenching into the fabric as if to anchor himself. He wanted—Merlin, he wanted so badly to touch you, just a simple brush of his fingers over your hair, something small, something to savor. But the thought sent a wave of panic crashing through him.

What if it woke you? What if it startled you? What if you looked up at him, bleary-eyed and confused, and he had to explain why his hands were trembling, why his breath was uneven, why he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

The mere idea of it made his stomach twist violently.

Yet his mind wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t let him rest. His thoughts churned, slipping into dangerous territory before he could stop them. Was this moment as perfect to you as it was to him?

No, of course not.

You were asleep, utterly unaware of the emotional devastation you had just unleashed upon him.

But still…

Sebastian, as infuriating as he was, was right. Your face was dangerously close to Ominis's pelvis, to the very peak of his torment.

Of course he had imagined you down there before. A million times. Your face, your mouth—Merlin, your mouth—and all the wicked ways he had dreamed of feeling it, of having it wrapped around him. It was a dangerous, recurring indulgence, one he had forced himself to bury, to ignore, to pretend didn’t exist.

But this wasn't that, he reminded himself sharply.

You weren’t here to torture him, to tease or tempt, to unravel him piece by trembling piece. You weren’t even aware of what you were doing to him—of how you had always done this to him, effortlessly, unknowingly. You were just… sleeping. Soft and trusting, warm and utterly oblivious, curled into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if you belonged there.

So even as his body betrayed him, as heat coiled low in his stomach and his blood turned traitorous, as the cruelest corners of his mind whispered every half-buried thought, every shameful fantasy he'd ever had of you—he could not let his mind wander further.

Ominis forced himself to exhale slowly, counting each breath in a desperate attempt to steady the erratic rhythm of his heart. In and out. In and out. But it wasn’t helping—nothing was. His body was taut with restraint, his nerves raw beneath the unbearable weight of you.

And then, another thought crept in, unbidden.

Was his lap even comfortable enough for you?

It was ridiculous, laughable even, that of all the things he should be worried about right now—his lack of control, the way his thoughts teetered on the edge of something dangerous, the sheer agony of wanting something he could never have—this was what took root in his mind.

But it did.

Because you were still there, still sleeping, still soft and warm and so impossibly close. And Ominis had never been… particularly built. He was lean, all sharp angles and bony joints, nothing like Sebastian, for example, who was solid in a way that made people feel secure when they leaned against him. Ominis, though?

Was he enough? Was he warm enough? Soft enough?

Did you even feel comfortable? Or were you simply too exhausted to move?

Ominis’ throat tightened. His jaw clenched.

Stop it.

He shook his head sharply, forcing the thought away before it could spiral further. It was ridiculous.

He let out a low, shaky sigh, tilting his head back against the worn fabric of the couch. His eyes fluttered closed, as if shutting them might help him breathe, might help him find some semblance of control.

Minutes passed—or maybe it was hours, he wasn’t sure—before his restraint began to crumble.

His fingers twitched at his side, brushing against the edge of his robe, as though testing his resolve. He swallowed hard, heart pounding in his chest.

Don’t do it. Don’t move. Just sit here. Be thankful she’s even this close.

But his hand betrayed him.

Slowly—hesitantly—he let his fingers lift from the couch, hovering for an agonizing moment before finally—finally—settling gently on your shoulder.

He froze. Held his breath. Waited.

You didn’t stir.

Encouraged by your lack of reaction, he let his hand shift, his fingertips ghosting over the curve of your shoulder, barely daring to make contact. He moved so carefully, as if even the air around you might betray him.

And then—

His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your cheek.

Ominis stopped breathing.

Oh, this was—this was worse. This was so much worse.

You were so warm. So soft.

It was unbearable. It was blissful.

It was a catastrophe.

His fingers lingered, just for a moment, before moving again, his touch impossibly light as he carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His throat felt tight, his pulse hammering so hard he thought it might shatter him from the inside out.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that. He shouldn’t be indulging in something so selfish, so fleeting. And yet he couldn’t stop.

Being blind, Ominis had grown up with people making assumptions about him—about what he wanted, what he needed. One of the most common, most infuriating notions was that he must long to touch their faces, to “see” them with his hands. Strangers would offer their cheeks, their chins, without hesitation, as if they were gifting him something precious. He hated it.

To him, it had always felt invasive. Hollow. An empty gesture that lacked the intimacy people so foolishly believed it conveyed.

But you?

You had never offered. Never asked him to touch your face. Ominis wondered if it was out of politeness, or if you simply didn’t want him to. Maybe you thought he’d recoil at the idea.

And yet—selfishly, shamefully—Ominis had wished more times than he could count that you would bring it up. That you would offer, not out of pity, not because you felt you should, but because you trusted him enough to let him. To let him know you.

But you never had.

And now—

Now, he had his chance.

His fingers mapped the soft curve of your cheek, brushed against your jawline, and trailed down the delicate bridge of your nose. Every touch was feather-light, as if he was terrified he might shatter you, might shatter himself.

His fingertips ghosted over the curve of your chin, tracing the soft slope with a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed. Every tiny detail of you was being burned into his mind now: the smoothness of your skin, the faint warmth radiating from you, the way your breathing remained steady, peaceful, as though his touch didn’t disturb you in the slightest.

It was intoxicating. It was terrifying.

It was everything.

His thumb brushed against the edge of your jaw, and his chest ached with the weight of everything he'd never said, everything he secretly felt. A quiet storm of longing and guilt swirled inside him, tightening in his throat, stealing the breath from his lungs.

What would you think if you knew? Would you pull away? Would you be offended by his presumption? Or would you—

He refused to finish the thought.

Ominis let out a slow, trembling breath, his thumb tracing one last, fleeting touch before he forced himself to pull away. His hand drifted back to your shoulder, retreating to safer ground, while the other, still trembling faintly, lifted to cradle the back of your head.

And then you shifted slightly in your sleep.

A soft, barely-there sigh escaped your lips as you curled just the slightest bit closer to him, seeking out his warmth as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ominis's breath hitched. The tension bled from his frame, melting into something warmer, something deeper—something that made his heart ache in a completely different way.

Because you were here. With him. Safe and peaceful, trusting him enough to let your guard down in a way that left him utterly, completely speechless.

And finally—mercifully—the storm in his mind began to quiet.

Ominis let his head tip back against the couch again, his fingers brushing absently against your shoulder as his eyes slipped closed.

He didn’t realize when his breaths grew deeper, slower, or when the exhaustion that had been tugging at the edges of his mind finally overtook him.

All he knew was that you were there.

Safe. Close.

By the time Sebastian returned, juggling plates of dinner, Ominis was fast asleep—his head resting against the couch, one hand still gently cradling the back of yours.

Next Part →

It wasn’t your fault though– nor was it Ominis’, really. It was easier for you to blame the Ministry for sending him away in the first place– on stupid assignments as far as fucking Romania, of all places. You’d received maybe two owls from him in the entire three weeks he’d been gone, and his lack of communication had set your teeth on edge for the last ten days. 

Again, it wasn’t his fault. Work was work, and you already knew Ominis loathed the Ministry assigned dictation quill they made him take with him, so you couldn’t particularly blame him for failing to send word more frequently. At the end of the day, you simply missed him. Longer trips away from home had become commonplace in the last few months, and every new assignment brought stronger cravings for him in his absence. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that, right?

Wrong. Well, half wrong. 

You grew fonder of Ominis every day– even after five years together, you were surprised to still be learning new things about him. Specific things that were prone to work you into a tizzy if you thought about them for too long. Like the infatuation he seemed to have with your hair, and how he would run his fingers through it before yanking deliciously to the side. Or his affinity for visiting every region of your body with his mouth before his cock even came into play. Not to mention the absolutely filthy way he would moan your name; the word always sounded like a prayer falling from his lips before his bruising grip would pull you on to his cock harder and faster, fucking you through your climax as he chased his own with a mind-numbing pace that would leave you drooling and begging for more. 

Of course you grew fonder of him. But the distance could fuck right off– and you were prepared to tell him as much as you waited for his train to pull into the station. Twenty long days were finally coming to an end.

It took the better part of a half-hour for the steaming pile of metal to dock and another fifteen minutes for people to begin unloading from the cabins. You anxiously scanned the crowd until you spotted a familiar coif of blonde hair emerge near the back, and then you were expertly weaving and ducking through the clusters of bodies to get to him. 

“Ominis!” you called out, and the way his entire face lit up at the sound of your voice made your heart soar. 

He was rather lucky he didn’t end up back inside the train as you threw your arms around his neck. Your hug was roughly the equivalent of a chokeslam, your shoulder digging into his throat as you pulled him against you with a strength that put a Troll’s to shame. His chuckle of amusement tickled your ear, and you shamelessly inhaled his scent, having gone far too long without it.

“I take it I was missed,” he mused, letting his wand bearing hand slide up the nape of your neck to angle your lips to his as he kissed you hungrily. The contented noises that escaped your mouth made his chest lurch with affection, and he was made aware of just how much you’d missed him when you angled your hips to press against his groin. He stifled a groan, digging his fingers into your waist as you bit and sucked at his bottom lip. 

When you pulled away to look at him, you practically growled your confirmation. “You have no idea. If the Ministry asks you to go on any more trips I’m sending a Niffler in your place.”

Ominis couldn’t contain his laughter as you pulled him against you once more, stealing a few more toe curling kisses before he was nudging you away from the platform. Your intentions were clear enough, but he would sooner lay across the tracks than give anyone the pleasure of observing you so wound up. That was a gift reserved for him and him alone. 

The carriage ride home was a test of sheer willpower. Your hands were demanding; pulling at the lapels of his coat and tugging his shirt from the waistband of his trousers to expose creamy, smooth skin. His hiss of pleasure when your chilled hands roved over his stomach sent a bolt of pure lust straight to your core, and you damn near straddled him right then and there. 

It was far from a one-sided affair– Ominis was just as greedy– if not more so. His hands were trailing up the seductive curve of your waist as he leaned over you to kiss you, that broad tongue delving deep to tangle with your own, swallowing every little mewl and moan he elicited from you. At one point, he took your hand and placed it on his lap, urging you to feel the effect you had on him. His cock strained painfully against his trousers, and your mouth watered when it twitched in response to the tentative squeeze you gave him. 

“Damn– I missed your hands on me,” his lyrical voice cast a shiver down your spine. It was hushed and gravelly, the pure desire in his tone making you press your knees together in unbearable anticipation. 

Ominis abandoned your mouth to press wet, hot kisses to your jaw, tilting the column of your neck back with the force of his lips. When you felt his teeth bite down against your pulse, your heart stuttered in your chest, and he heard and felt you gasp with pleasure. Ominis smirked against the wet skin, sliding his hand from your hip up beneath your ruffled blouse, scratching as he went to squeeze your breasts. The pad of his thumb toyed with your nipple for far too long, making you squirm and pant in his hold in search of more. 

Fuck– you didn’t even think climbing inside his skin could begin to satiate you. 

When the carriage finally lurched to a stop outside your shared home, you barely had time to tug your shirt down before the driver was opening the door for you both. If he could tell what the two of you had been up to moments before, he didn’t show it, simply moving aside so you could step out. 

You let Ominis deal with paying the man as you rushed to the door, eager to be inside the privacy and comfort of the cottage. You took the liberty of summoning Ominis’ bags into the living room so he wouldn’t have to, and with a quick spark from your wand the fireplace was roaring to life, casting the space in an ambient glow. 

Heavy steps in the entryway drew your attention then, and your knees buckled at the sight of Ominis slamming the front door and stalking towards you like a wolf on the prowl. His knuckles were blanched white around his wand as he maneuvered around the familiar layout, and when his free hand found your shoulder, he languidly scooped you up and rammed your back into the wall as he claimed your lips in a desperate kiss. 

You were an absolute mess as you sighed against his open mouth, kissing him back with just as much fervor. Oh, how you’d missed this. You let your fingers wind their way into his soft, blonde hair as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Pinned between Ominis and the wall, the feeling of his hard cock rubbing against your slick through your skirt had you grinding back for more.

“Missed you–” you started to say before he cut you off with a chaste kiss, then he was burying his face in your neck, those sharp teeth of his biting and sucking any part of you he could get his lips on. You moaned, “I missed you so much Ominis. I h-hate it when you leave– fuck–” 

“Me too,” he groaned and punctuated the statement with a dizzying roll of his hips. “Merlin, I missed you too. I want you so bad—“

Your nails dug into the small of his back as you clawed at him, the ardent need to feel more of him against you as strong as the need to breathe, and Ominis obliged as he tightened his arms around you and kissed you once more. It was long and passionate and everything you had been dreaming about since he’d left those three agonizing weeks ago. Before you could properly appreciate the unique scent of him, he was breaking away and dropping right to his knees to slip slender fingers beneath your waistband. 

You watched as Ominis slowly tugged the fabric down, past your hip bones and over the shapely curve of your ass, before it dropped unceremoniously around your ankles. His milky blue eyes widened when his hands ghosted over where your underwear would have been… had you been wearing any. 

His mouth fell open at the realization, brows slamming down into a serious expression as he moaned, “Fucking hell–” 

There was no helping your smug grin at how incredibly turned on he sounded, but it lasted only a second before he was gripping your waist and hauling your soaked cunt to his mouth, and then you were throwing your head back against the wall with a string of cries that only served to spur him on. 

Ominis made it his mission to make you melt under his attention. His nose nestled against the bundle of nerves at your center, dragging a sultry moan from your throat as his hands nudged your knee over his shoulder and forced more of you on his tongue. He couldn’t get enough of you— the phantom taste of you on his lips had haunted him for his entire stay in Romania, making work a fucking impossibility. Knowing you had been as eager as he was, to the point where you’d completely forgone your undergarments on the off chance he would fuck you— it was enough to have him caving to his baser urges in a heartbeat. 

As he lapped at your juices, Ominis brought one of his hands down to his cock, palming himself shamelessly through the material as he ate you out, and the sight was nothing short of sinful as far as you were concerned. When his tongue came to probe at your entrance, you couldn’t help but buck your hips against his face as you gasped sharply. 

“F-Fuck, Ominis—”

It felt fantastic— so much better than your own fingers, which had failed to get you off a frustrating amount of times in the time he’d been gone. Ominis’ ability to focus on all of you with his heightened senses was otherworldly. You had convinced yourself a long time ago that he had more sexual prowess in his left pinky than anyone else on the planet. 

The thought solidified tenfold when he wiggled his tongue deeper inside you, those full lashes fluttering open to gaze lovingly in the direction of your voice. 

Your nails scraped along his scalp in a feeble attempt to feel more of him as an immodest moan tumbled from your throat, and the hand he still had braced against your ass tightened in response. Ominis ravished you, pulling curses and pleas from your swollen lips as the fire in your gut began to spread lower, the coiling heat driving you to rut back against his mouth as hard as your trembling legs allowed. 

“Fuck, Ominis– please, I’m so close–”

Ominis drew in a long breath as he held you fast to his rapidly moving tongue. The weight of your cunt pressed against his lips was making him lose any semblance of control over himself, the blood pulsing through his cock bordering on painful and demanding to be addressed. His desperation to take you on the bed had to be fucking palpable, and as you finally tightened around his tongue and your release cascaded over you, he barely waited a full minute before he was pulling away to pick you up again. 

“You’re incredible,” you felt him mutter the words into the crook of your clammy neck, and all you could bring yourself to do in response was whimper. “You’re going to listen good for me, hm? Going to let me fuck you until you’re crying my name and begging for more? That’s what you want, right?” 

You were still caught up in the euphoria of your orgasm– the small twitches emanating from your body were his only indication that you were still alive. 

Laughing against your shoulder, you felt Ominis move off the wall with you still boneless in his grasp as he made his way to the far corner of the cottage. “Of course you’ll be good, just listening to you I can tell. You didn’t even try to stop yourself from riding my face– so needy.” 

That teasing tone in his voice was enough to bring you back to the present moment. You didn’t even know if his wand was still in his hand, but it didn’t matter either way; he knew every inch of your shared home almost as well as he knew your own body, and he expertly maneuvered you to the edge of the mattress before throwing you down on the plush surface. 

Any sounds you made were immediately swallowed up by Ominis’ lips on yours again. Your noses and teeth knocked together as you drank in the lingering taste of yourself on his mouth, and when you raised your knee to arch closer to him, he boldly ground his cock against your leg, and your brain officially ceased to function. 

Glorious as the moment was, it was rudely interrupted by the fabric of your blouse beneath his fingers, and he really didn’t have the patience for any hindrances any longer. With an animalistic snarl Ominis was yanking the center seam apart, the buttons flying off in every direction and pelting the floor softly. Your gasp of shock overshadowed the noise– a brilliant red flush swept over your torso, trailing Ominis’ hands as he cupped your breasts and kneaded the skin beneath his fingers. 

“I thought about you every second these last few weeks,” Ominis started to say, trailing one burning hand down against your folds in a way that left your head spinning, before he was silently slipping a crooked finger into your slick heat. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, your chest hitching as Ominis’ other hand came to gently curl around your neck. He applied a gratifying amount of pressure on the sides of your windpipe, pulling a choked wheeze from your parted lips. “I thought about how I would take my time when I got home– mapping your parts again like I did the first time. But to be quite honest with you, I can’t bear another second without you around my cock. I think I’ll skip any more pleasantries for tonight, what do you say?”

His thumb came to rub at the renewed slick coating your sensitive clit, and your head kicked back against the pillows with a wanton moan. 

“Please–” you choked out through clenched teeth– the spots that danced in the corners of your eyes were so blissfully titillating, you never wanted Ominis to remove his weight from your throat. All you cared about was his cock– how it would finally feel buried in you to the hilt, hitting that sweet spot that you knew would reduce you to a pile of limp mush. 

“Please what?” Ominis’ voice sounded foreign, even to him. His blatant lust for you diluted his words, and his grip on your throat tightened just enough to leave you clenching your knees around the hand he had buried in your aching cunt. 

One of your hands shot up to grip his slender wrist as the other fisted in the blankets, and you wanted to cry– your need for him was so intense– you would agree you were a damned Hippogriff if it meant he would give you what you wanted, what you knew he wanted as well. “Please fuck me, Ominis. I can’t take it anymore– I want your cock, I missed your cock– please–” 

Your airy voice was his final straw. He relaxed his grip on your throat, and the greedy breath you drew into your lungs was effectively stolen as Ominis leaned down to claim your lips in a hungry kiss. His trousers were irritatingly tight, but he couldn’t be bothered to waste any time on painstakingly removing them, so he slid his finger from your wet heat to hastily undo his belt. Arousal clouded his mind, and the first few attempts at removing the leather strap failed with a string of curses on his lips. 

In an impatient attempt to move things along, your fingers drifted up to help Ominis take off the belt, but the immediate and positively indignant furrow of his brows quickly conveyed exactly what a bad idea that was. 

Not quick enough, though. The hand on your throat flew to both your wrists in a flash, and then he was throwing your arms over your head with that hidden strength you knew always lurked beneath the surface. “Keep your hands to yourself, darling,” he purred the demand against your lips, and the sound of his belt finally falling from his waist was like music to your ears. “Or do you need help? Do I need to physically restrain you to keep you from doing the simple things I ask of you?” 

Part of you leapt at the idea– to be completely at Ominis’ mercy, hands restrained while he used you for his own pleasure– your own protests and requests forgotten. But a larger part of you wanted to feel him now. It had been three fucking weeks. If he wasted another second teasing you with his fingers or his hands– or even his Merlin be damned belt, you were going to combust. So you shook your head and whimpered out a meek, “No, please– just fuck me already Ominis– I’m sorry– please, I need you.” 

You heard his belt clatter against the floor somewhere far away, your mind suddenly flooded with the taste, the smell– the ripe, undeniable feeling of Ominis all around you. He had shoved his trousers down around his hips, allowing his cock to spring free from its clothed prison. It stood arched and proud against his narrow waist, the swollen head peeking through his foreskin, and your mouth watered promisingly at the sight. 

He adjusted his hold on your wrists; snug and secure. When he finally nudged his head against your entrance, your nails dug into your palms with the effort it took to not grab his hips and pull him into you all at once. A keening sound came from somewhere in your chest as he pushed in more, instantly thrilled to be feeling him inside of you after so long. Those hazy blue irises followed the sound of your stifled gasp as he worked his cock into your overwhelmingly wet heat, taking it all in as he committed your raspy moans of his name to memory. 

Ominis gave a shuddering groan, leaning back to brace himself on his arms once he was fully seated inside of you. His length was considerable– the fact that you could actually take all of him was a bonafide miracle, and the way he felt pressing against your walls was an absolute and utter God-send. 

“Oh fuck,” he moaned from above you. His face betrayed every thought racing through his mind. The brief moment he waited before pulling his hips back was more for him than it was for you– he was overcome with the sheer sensation of you encasing him. When he finally did move, however, both of you were sighing in earnest at the euphoric sensation it brought you. “Fuck, you feel incredible, love.”

One of your favorite parts about laying with Ominis was watching him. He was always so expressive, making it relatively easy for you to cater to his desires when it was you working to pleasure him. But when the roles were reversed like this, you enjoyed watching the ecstasy you brought him wash over his lithe body. His eyes narrowed in concentration with each slow thrust of his hips, and the way he was grinding against you while fully sheathed in your cunt made your eyes cross. The hands he had previously manhandled you with were now tracing every ridge of your body– featherlight and testing at first– but then his blunt nails dragged over your pert nipples and pulled a guttural whine from your throat. That muscle in his jaw ticked at the sound, and before you knew it, Ominis was mercifully picking up his pace. 

Your name tumbled from his lips as he came to dig his fingers into the skin of your waist, angling your hips up just enough so that when he pulled back and plunged back in, the head of his cock reached far deeper than anything he’d offered you before. 

“Fuck!” You screamed and flexed your fingers in Ominis’ grip. “Oh my– Merlin, that’s fucking– Ominis–” 

Nothing coherent was coming out of your mouth, but Ominis didn’t seem to mind as he swiftly slammed his cock into your pulsing core again. No, if anything he loved hearing you reduced to a mewling, unintelligible pile of limbs. It riled him up more– leaving him desperate to fuck more disjointed words and phrases from your wicked lips. Your magnetic aura always drew him in, that ancient magic of yours acting as a beacon whenever he was apart from you. Joined together like this– fucking the composure straight out of you– it brought that gravitational pull to new heights, and his hand tenderly felt its way to your cheek. 

Ominis’ thumb swiped through a few tears that had slipped out the corners of your eyes, and you turned your misty gaze towards him, willing your muddled brain to focus on his face through each rough thrust of his hips. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, the concern in his voice apparent, but he didn’t cease his ministrations– thank Merlin. 

“Y-Yeah, f-fuck– feels so good, Ominis, you’re amazing– I missed you, I missed you so much.” Your reassurances had an affectionate warmth spreading in his chest, and when he leaned forward to capture your lips once again, he damn near passed out as your walls clenched around him. 

With a growl, Ominis released your wrists and was sitting back on his heels to grab at your calves. You had the good sense to lift your legs in assistance, and as soon he had you in his burning grasp, he was folding your knees up to your shoulders. A sharp cry ripped from your throat as his cock plunged back in, followed by a string of sinful moans as you were left to feel every deep, delightful brush of his shaft against your cervix. 

Ominis set a brutal pace, shifting his own legs apart to pound his cock right into where he knew your sweet spot was, taking advantage of the fantastic angle your raised legs offered. Your cries grew louder, needier, and before you knew it you were ripping the pillow out from beneath your head to sprawl freely across the bed and arch towards him with as much give as you were allowed. Ominis felt you contorting beneath him and whispered filthy praises in your ear, his lust-dark eyes driving you mad as he squeezed your legs and told you how good you were being, how pretty you sounded, and how nicely you were taking his cock. 

Before long you could feel the telltale coiling in your gut returning, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. Ominis wasn’t far behind– he honestly could have come hands free earlier just from having you half-sat on his face– but this new angle allowed him to brutally slam his pelvis against your ass, and the sound of skin slapping against wet skin threatened to send him over the edge. 

He bent down, pushing your legs back farther as he kissed any coherent thoughts from your mind and slammed his cock into you. “C’mon love, watch me– watch my cock drag those pretty cries from you– let me hear you.” 

Following his request was harder than you imagined– you were fucking boneless. Your head struggled to cooperate as you lifted your neck, but Merlin, was it worth it. Ominis’ pale cock glistened with your slick, the firelight casting a brilliant glow over his sweaty, porcelain skin. The supple muscles in his shoulders flexed beneath his shirt with the effort he exerted to keep you bent precariously in half, and his kiss swollen lips parted around a keening groan as he ground his balls against your ass. 

“Fuck, Ominis, s-so fucking good– a-ah–” His thrusts grew in intensity, and you wanted to complain when he released one of your legs and let it fall limply to the side, but that was before the now free appendage found your sensitive clit and pressed hard, tempting circles against it. Your head flew back in ecstacy, unintelligible pleas falling from your lips left and right– and you were almost certain you were drooling all over yourself, but you couldn’t begin to give a shit about it with Ominis pounding you and rubbing your clit and wearing that unbelievably seductive expression like some sort of convoluted sex-demon. 

Fuck– the mere sight of him ramming into you, desperate to have you falling apart on his cock, was everything you’d ever need. 

“I’m gonna come, fuck– Ominis I’m close, please let me come, please.” 

“Come, darling. You can come.” Ominis buried his face in your neck as he let out a positively erotic whine, your begging causing his mind to completely empty, and when your walls seemed to constrict and suck him in further, he nearly lost it then and there. “That’s it– come on my cock, let me hear you– come for me, love–” 

You cut him off with a desperate cry of his name, arching your back so it was flush with his chest as your nails flew to his shoulders. They dug into the material of his shirt in a last ditch attempt to pull him closer to you as you fell apart around his cock. Ominis moaned, the sound long and low as his fingers tangled in your messy hair and pulled, the sting making you buck involuntarily against him– and if he didn’t come now he was positive he would drop dead on top of you. 

Ominis pumped harder, his own rattling moans growing in volume as he chased his orgasm. His pace was fast and rough as he slipped his arm under your waist and held you fast to him– those slender fingers digging into your body with bruising strength that left you clenching around him, and his hips began to falter as his own release coursed over him like a deadly tidal wave. You felt him shoot his load deep inside of you, and you whimpered at the sensation– your legs shook wildly on either side of him as he slowly rocked against you, milking every last drop from his twitching cock. 

It took a while for the two of you to catch your breath and come down, both of you salty with sweat and so beyond content with it. Ominis was absurdly careful as he pulled out of you, and you shivered as you felt his hands drift over your naked body, pressing and soothing with gentle touches and chaste kisses. You watched through hooded eyes as he backed up further, then leaned down to press a delicate kiss to your overstimulated clit. Your breath caught in your throat, and you couldn’t help the small jolt your body gave at the unexpected touch. 

“All mine,” you heard him mutter from down near your nether region. Despite the raunchy activities you’d just partaken in, you flushed a brilliant red at his tone. It was predatory– almost feline, and you felt his hands grip the soft skin of your inner thighs before his long finger was pressing against your leaking hole. The digit pushed his milky semen further inside of you, and you gasped. “And this is yours– a keepsake, for waiting so patiently for my return.” 

If you weren’t so drained, you would have jumped up from your spot and flipped him over to go again, his lewd acts of reverence making you dizzy with want. 

But alas– you were exhausted. Ominis looked fatigued too, his full day of travel finally beginning to catch up with him now that he’d gone and emptied three weeks worth of cum inside of you. You watched as he traced the delectable outline of your hip bones with his hands before he slid off the bed to lazily tug his shirt over his head, and then he was quickly shedding his trousers. He tucked his softening cock away in his briefs as he maneuvered his way back to the bed, feeling for you instantly. 

You let his lithe arms tug you against his bare chest, burying your head in the crook of his neck and intertwining your legs with his so that all the softer parts of you were flush with the harder parts of him. 

It was easy– exactly the kind of simple life Ominis had always craved. As loathsome as it was to perform the bulk of the Ministry’s leg work overseas, coming home to you each time made every second worth it. His head craned sideways to place a tender kiss on top of your head, your hair tickling his nose. “I love you,” he murmured affectionately, his eyes drifting shut. 

“I love you more,” you countered easily. It drew a breathy chuckle from Ominis, and you felt his broad hand spread across the small of your back as he held you tight. 

The two of you fell asleep like that; cocooned in the familiar safety of each other’s arms, sweet nothings drifting from your lips until Ominis’ steady breathing lulled you into pleasant dreams of your own. The last thing you found yourself thinking about as sleep overtook you was how you would absolutely be sending a Niffler in his stead the next time the Ministry came calling. They could pry him from your cold, ancient magic wielding hands. 

After a long study session, you were both lounging carefree on the opulent burgundy couch set against one wall; a gaudy luxury that you fought tooth and nail to add to the cold expanse of the undercroft so that you could rest while you did some reading, or simply when you were too tired to return to your dormitories. Two tall stacks of books rested on the low table in front of you, some even open and scattered across the carpet on the floor, as well as piles of half-scribbled parchment, inkwells and quills. The flickering flames arranged in the braziers hanging on the walls provided an orange illumination that was both functional and comforting to the eyes. In the cushioned space between you two lay the remains of two boxes of Chocolate Frogs - his clearly opened in a much more elegant manner than yours.

Outside the castle the snow fell without stopping, freezing everything around with its cloud of crystals, but inside the walls you felt safe and warm.

"She was clearly interested in more than just his guidance on creature care."

Despite the suggestive tone, there's a soft smile on your lips as you says this, your feet swinging languidly on the tabletop where they're propped up on top of each other.

"No surprise there." He snorts beside you, a sullen quality to his tone that definitely wasn't there a few seconds ago. "This sort of thing always happens to him. And oh, he's so pompous about it too, really insufferable. It's obvious by now that he can have any girl in school, even some boys I dare say, and he's amply and unfortunately very aware of it. It's annoying that he has that kind of power, if you ask me."

This time you can't help the amused chuckle that escapes your lips, perfectly conjuring behind closed eyelids the sullen pout the man is surely making just by his tone of voice.

"Careful now, Gaunt, some poor unsuspecting person who hears you speak like that might interpret your words as jealousy." Your tone oscillates between a weak attempt at reprimand and amusement, enjoying poking the poor man. "What's wrong, haven't you been getting enough attention from the student masses?"

It was a teasing comment, intentional in the aim of maintaining the fun and pleasant atmosphere that surrounded them. But when a few good seconds pass without him saying anything in return, you slowly allow your eyes to open, staring at the Slytherin sitting next to you.

The first thing you notice is how tense his body is; shoulders rigid and head turned away from you, hands clenched tightly on his thighs. He looks uncomfortable in every tiny line of his tall body. He's not denying what you suggested and you've teased him enough times in the past to know that he should have done so already if he disagreed with your words.

Oh

"I would find such a notion rather unbelievable if that were the case, of course, since this is you we're talking about." You murmur slowly when it becomes obvious he's not going to respond, watching his every reaction intently as you fish for information.

"What—wait, what are you talking about?" He looks a little dazed, tilting his head toward you just a fraction, but you continue your train of thought, taking advantage of the fact that you have his attention once more.

"Well, you're Ominis Gaunt. Not only do you have all that physical representation of cold elegance and an aura of royalty that your House so annoyingly likes to impose, but you're also a member of one of the most notorious families in the wizarding world. It's hard to believe that there isn't a line of lovestruck hearts out there just waiting for an opportunity to date you. I bet you're just as popular as Sebastian these days - you're just more discreet about it than him, obviously."

Your comment, although honest in every word, is made innocently, with no apparent justification for any fuss - just sincere curiosity about the question raised. And that's why you're taken aback by his reaction to you. Even though he remains frozen where he sits with all the grace and refinement of an enchanted lord from a fairy tale, the poor man's cheeks burn with such an intense blush that you quickly find yourself worried that he's about to have some kind of silent breakdown.

"I-it's not quite like that." He straightens his already perfect posture as he brings a limp fist to his lips, covering his sudden stutter with a subtle cough that, in and of itself, carries more pomp than you could ever achieve in your entire life - which, of course, only confirms what you've just said. "While my family is admittedly reputed in the wizarding world, I can assure you that it is not in a good way at all. And it goes without saying that everyone here knows it too. They vacillate between avoiding me as if I've been jinxed with a repulsive Slugulus Eructo or fearing me as if I'll Avada them at the slightest sign of movement. That in itself is a major romance deterrent, you know. I don't blame them, of course. My family's crimes extend to me through the bloodline, whether I like it or not. It's inevitable, really."

You part your lips, all too ready to interrupt what was proving to be the beginning of another session of misplaced guilt from the Slytherin, when you see him smirking. His pale cheeks are still stained with that pink dust, but his lips are stretched in a mischievous pull that actually disguises his embarrassment for a few seconds.

"Besides, although I am, as you well know, completely averse to the dark practices of the Gaunts, I confess to taking advantage of all that reputation, sometimes. It suits me at some very specific moments."

You tilt your head, giving him your best unimpressed look.

"Oh, I am quite aware of that. Your readiness to use the Gaunts' reputation for your own benefit was especially evident that night when you threatened to terrorize my last generation if I opened my mouth about the Undercroft. You certainly know how to make a good point when you put intention behind it."

It washes the smile from his lips so instantly it's almost comical, leaving behind only a kicked, embarrassed expression, the flush in his cheeks highlighting the constellation of beauty marks on his porcelain skin.

"I - I already said I was sorry about that, I was just -"

"Hey, hey, it's okay, it doesn't bother me anymore. I'm just teasing you." You cut him off with a sly smile. "Anyway, you're not going to get away from the real issue here."

Because, well...you really couldn't stop thinking about the suggestiveness of his previous statement. The possibilities - oh - were running through your brain nonstop. So, against your better judgment, and with your cheeks flush with heat, you find yourself pressing him on it.

"I don't understand what exactly you want to know." He mumbles, trying to cover up his embarrassment with a look of disinterest that is too poor to be taken seriously.

"You...have been with someone before, right?" This time you're deadly direct, no hints or openings for half answers. You had a question and you wanted to clear it up, your embarrassment in uttering such words wouldn't be enough to stop you. "Ah, intimately, I mean."

Obviously, it's not the kind of question that a decent lady would have asked a young man of such high prestige as Ominis Gaunt, you imagine. But after everything you've been through since you started your journey at Hogwarts, you feel bolder than the tolerable standard for young ladies, as if you'd lost some of your subtlety somewhere along the way. But how could you not?

More times than you can remember, you've been teetering on the brink of death, facing enemies who didn't think twice about whether or not you were too young for such things. More times than you can remember, you've been responsible for making decisions that would directly impact the lives of many people, even the wizarding world as a whole. The power in your hands, the skills and the often almost unbearable weight that such responsibilities brought to your life, made your mentality run miles ahead of those of your schoolmates - of society, in general. Inevitably, you felt that circumstances had forced you to develop a sense of urgency and raw honesty that even some adults lacked.

It was true that you lacked practical experience in some intimate matters - now mind you, you didn't exactly have a lot of free time for romantic interests and sex, too busy between the Keepers Trials, running tirelessly through the Highlands performing exhausting tasks for every poor soul who crossed your path - tasks that often culminated in your near death - attending the many classes during the day and the intensive study for the O.W.L.s in the library.

It was a true miracle when you managed to find time to sleep in your own bed in the dormitory - more often than not you were so exhausted that you simply lay down wherever you were and took a nap.

The fact was that you weren't exactly experienced in matters of intimacy, not really. There had been a few daring kisses here and there, of course. Even a few curious hands while you were snuggling with a Ravenclaw boy between the shelves of the library, hidden from Madam Scribner's watchful eyes. But you hadn't gone any further than that with anyone - even though the rumors circulating around school were that you and Sebastian Sallow had once been caught in an embarrassing and quite explicit situation in the Prefects' Bathroom. Which, of course, was a blatant lie. You had only been in the Prefects' Bathroom once and it certainly wasn't for any...carnal purposes.

You suspected that it was Sebastian himself who had started such rumors.

Either way, your lack of experience in the field had never bothered you much. Honestly, you didn't have the energy to bother yourself with it more than superficially. But you’d be lying if you denied that the prospect that Ominis, the most unfairly handsome and well-born boy you’ve ever met, might be as inexperienced as you is doesn’t offer a kind of comfort you didn’t even know you needed — as well as a funny thrill of anticipation in your belly.

You blink slowly as you stare at his handsome profile, bracing yourself for more of his cold scowls and frustrated huffs of impatience — perhaps even a sermon on how unladylike it is to ask such questions. He’s very good at sermons. Instead, however, you’re met with something else entirely. The upturned bridge of his nose is stained with blush, as are his cheeks. His unseeing gaze is turned away from you, his lips pressed tightly together, the corners slightly turned down. He looks…nervous? Distressed? You feel bad for pushing him like this. But as blushing and regretful as you are, the thought of what this means makes your heart beat faster by the second. The thought that you were right about your deductions after all makes your throat almost dry.

"H-hey, Ominis," you stammer awkwardly, but he still doesn't tilt his head in your direction. His arms are crossed over his chest like a physical shield, his entire posture screaming barely contained tension, making you slowly pull your feet off the table and adjust yourself on the couch so that you're sitting sideways to face him better. You take a deep breath, but Merlin, the air between you feels heavy now. It's strange, really; you don't think the two of you have ever been this awkward around each other, except for the first time you had a conversation - which was actually more of a threatening monologue on his part than a conversation per se. The regret of having insisted on this subject begins to weigh on your chest - a sincere fear that something that seemed so harmless to you a few minutes ago could be the cause of a crack in the bond you've arduously cultivated with Ominis is taking root in your mind.

You adjust uncomfortably the red hood of the robe around your neck, thinking that it wasn't worth trying to satisfy your curiosity after all - and let it be recorded for all that a Gryffindor knows when to give up their pride and admit to having made a bad decision, no matter how bitter the aftertaste is on your tongue. With a forced smile on your lips and a hand rubbing the back of your head, you silently pray that your next words will ease the heavy mood that has settled in the Undercroft.

"You know what? Let's forget about it. This is really none of my business and I'm sure that -"

"No." Ominis interrupts you shyly, impossibly redder than before and you immediately shut up, eyes wide as you stare at him with your heart wanting to fly out of your chest. "I've never been like this with anyone." The small tremor in his voice indicates how nervous he feels.

It would be comical if it weren't so desperate how by now you were already certain of this statement and yet it still manages to leave you completely speechless when it leaves his lips. The regret of having started this whole thing is ridiculously more overwhelming than before because you simply don't know what to say now that you've heard what you already knew all along. Thinking back now, what in Godric's name did you plan on saying in the first place? He would confess what you suspected to be the truth and then what?

Congrats, that's what you get for being so inappropriately curious.

"T-there was this girl in fourth year and we, well, she kissed me - but it was weird and a complete accident, it only lasted for a second and...and after that I never, you know...I've never been interested in anyone like that...at least not until -"

You think you might just burst into a ball of flames from how scorching your skin is, and Ominis is obviously as disturbingly embarrassed as you are because he's gesticulating with his hands and babbling nonstop, his nervousness causing him to reveal far more than you had initially asked, making both of you more awkward by the second.

Oh. Oh, Merlin. He hadn't even kissed anyone. At least not really.

What are you supposed to do with this information?!

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, sighing so deeply that his shoulders slump with the movement, deflating the way a balloon punctured by a needle would. 

Despite your brutal state of embarrassment, you frown, leaning forward on the couch so that you’re a little closer to him. “Sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m the one who asked you things that didn’t concern me. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

Ominis gives you a shy smile that lacks any sincere joy. “I know, but still. I mean, I shouldn’t have — it’s weird for me to say these things about you, even though I’ve wanted to say them for a while. But I didn’t — I just didn’t want it to be this disastrous.”

In retrospect, you think this might all just be a trick of your overactive imagination. It's quite possible that you simply blacked out while Ominis was telling you about Sebastian's latest romantic endeavor - in his deep, soft voice - and that this is all just a dream.

It's a very plausible option, given that this has happened before. His presence, always so calm and controlled, combined with his mesmerizing baritone have guided you into a lethargic state of drowsiness more times than you can remember. It's just how he makes you feel - relaxed and safe.

Yes, that's what's happening once again. It has to be. Why, for heaven's sake, can't you have just heard what you think you heard, right?

But the way he stands there, serious features and a deep blush on his face, waiting for your answer with a visible degree of insecurity in his normally impassive being, is what makes you finally say something.

"W-was that about me?" You let out quietly, your racing heartbeat somehow accelerating even more, to the point where you question the harm this would do to your health. "When you said you've never been interested in anyone like that, at least until..." you continue, trying to bring some semblance of order to your thoughts, "was it me you were talking about then?"

It took a few seconds before he nodded once.

"I've wanted to talk to you about this for a long time. But there was always something going on - someone you needed to help, a poor creature needing to be rescued in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, a Goblin Helm to be recovered in a cursed cave far away from here..." he chuckles softly and you find yourself laughing back, shy and gentle, though a long exhale leaves your lips as you feel a bit of lightness begin to permeate the air between you two once more.

He reaches for you hesitant, but gently - oh so gently - places his cold hand above yours on the couch. You don't flinch or avoid his touch, though you still stare for a few seconds at the place where his long, pale fingers cover yours, trying to assimilate the unreal image that unfolds in front of you. And when your gaze rises and finally finds his face, it almost breaks your heart.

Realistically, you know he can’t see anything at all, but that becomes an afterthought in your mind as soon as you look at him. His eyes, bright, pale blue orbs like two moon-like spheres, are tilted and fixed at the exact same level as yours — and in this particular moment, you’re certain he’s seeing you, as impossible as that possibility may be. Swallowing the saliva that’s building in your mouth is suddenly a difficult task, but you force yourself to do it anyway.

"Ominis, what—what are you trying to say?”

You whisper slowly, as if the mere question is a secret between the two of you, the unexpected intensity in his cloudy eyes making your heart stutter as he continues to stare at you, his bushy brows furrowed in an expression that’s hard to discern. Suddenly, you realize how close you’re standing. Nothing but a small gap in the couch separates you, where your hands are clasped together and two boxes of Chocolate Frogs still rest. You can smell him, confunsing your mind as you unconsciously lean a little closer to him — fresh mint, chocolate, and something that reminds you of open parchment or the scent of the pages of a rare book.

He breathes your name huskily, and you feel your cheeks tingle with the heat of a fresh flush of blush.

“I’m in love with you,” he says earnestly, more whispering the words than saying them, his hand tightening in yours a fraction more, and all you can do is stare at him in utter shock. The expression on his face is vulnerable, evidenced by the furrowed lines of his brows in what looks almost like agony. But he’s also determined — a single-minded determination that’s enough to steal the breath from your lungs. "It took me a while to understand it, but I think I've been since the day I met you, to be honest. When you arrived late to the Great Hall, out of breath and in a hurry, but still so ecstatic with everything around you - as if being brutally attacked by a dragon while trying to get to school was no big deal. You've been stunning to me ever since. It was impossible not to be completely enchanted by you."

You're at a loss for words, so you don't even try to find them, opting for silence as you repeat his words on a loop in your mind.

It's strange how you always imagined confessions like this should be made in front of silvery moonlit ponds or in lush meadows during the spring season or literally anywhere that could be considered even remotely inspiring for romance. Certainly not in secret spaces filled with dust, crates and training dummies like the Undercroft. But here you are; overwhelmed and speechless by a declaration made in the last place you imagined you'd receive one.

And oh Merlin, you want to believe him, to entertain the idea that someone as utterly adorable as Ominis could feel that way about you - even though you've never been able to explain to yourself how you really felt about him.

Ominis Gaunt has always been an enigma.

The Slytherin's obvious qualities are nothing new to you; his gentle disposition despite his aloof facade and the weight of his family's unsavory reputation, or his polite and gentlemanly manners towards everyone. But these were attributes that anyone with even the slightest interest in him could see, qualities that didn't set him apart that much from others you knew.

But the truth is that, with time and familiarity, you noticed other distinct peculiarities in Ominis.

Leaving aside his ethereal beauty and his tall, majestic physique, which, again, are very obvious positive traits about him, he was the most captivating man you've ever met. The patience he possessed towards others, the fierce loyalty to you and Sebastian, the fact that despite the long sermons that accompanied it, he was always breaking the promises he made to himself in favor to protect and support those he loved. His far above average intelligence, the way he annoyingly always knows the right thing to say - even, and especially, at the times when you don't want to hear it. And, of course, his most attractive side in your opinion: the unexpected softness in his dark nature - it's about him being able to frighten and silence an entire room with just his imposing presence and still be the one to comfort and care, with kindness and respect.

You certainly understood that Ominis was someone seriously conflicted. The way he sometimes tended towards a cold temperament, or how, at times, he let his emotions guide him to his dark and cold side, did not go unnoticed by you. But still, you saw how he tried hard to let his gentle side prevail in his manner.

But

Did noticing these little details that would normally go unnoticed by others mean that you reciprocate his feelings?

Well, you felt safe with him. Even safer than you felt with Sebastian. While the latter was undeniably a friend you held in high regard (and even a small crush, if you were honest) he did not give you the same sense of complete comfort and trust that Ominis did. With Sebastian you felt like you had to constantly prove yourself, like just being who you were was never enough for him. Now with Ominis...

And as you stare at him, open-mouthed, searching for the right words to respond to his unexpected declaration, you think that maybe that's why you've never been able to put a name to what you felt for him. There was no heady, bubbling, flowery passion to announce any feelings, like there had been with your other brief flirtations before - or even with Sebastian. There was only the warmth, the relief, the peace of feeling whole and completely safe.

The feeling of knowing that if you were in a life-or-death situation and could count on only one person to save you, he would be the one to come to your rescue.

Godric

Realization borns in your chest to the point where you feel like you could float, like the feeling after eating a mouthful of Fizzling Whizzbees. Suddenly, you feel like you have so much to say, but you don't know how. Ominis, as usual, is much more eloquent:

"You wanted to know if I've ever been intimate with anyone, and my answer is no." He seems more hesitant, as if his hopes have been diminished a bit along with your prolonged silence, but his voice is still soft - as is the grip of his fingers on yours. "I've never been intimate with anyone because the only person I've ever wanted to be with was you."

All the air in your lungs leaves you in a sharp exhale, the warmth of deep admiration, affection and trust filling your chest and making your heart beat wildly. Overcome with emotion, you look once more at his hand holding your smaller one, opening your mouth, fumbling for the words in a confusing jumble of vowels and consonants.

"It's okay," Ominis assures you with a sad smile, his large milky eyes slanted downward, staring blindly at where he feels you squeeze his fingers. "I know it's a lot to take in at once. I don't mean to pressure you into anything, I swear. I just, I guess I just needed to tell you how I feel. But I understand if...well...I really understand that you don't feel the same way." His thick eyebrows sink, his face hardening slightly, as if he's already prepared for your rejection.

"Ominis." His name is a sigh from your lips. Touched. Longing.

You don't know how exactly what was supposed to be just another night of studying has brought you here. All you know is that you intend to enjoy every moment of this unexpected confession, eager to discover what new paths it might lead to.

The heat of Ominis so close combined with the way your heart had raced as you focused on his perfectly flushed lips, and how his scent was making your head spin, made you suddenly feel more impulsive than ever. And that's saying something considering your history of questionable choices.

You decide to go for it.

"Can I kiss you?" You ask in a frail whisper as you realize that nothing you could say would be enough to make him understand the emotions you're feeling right now.

His head snaps up at the question, his eyes wide and his lips parted.

"W-what? I mean, yes. Merlin, yes you can -" he breathes quickly, his pale skin stained with a deep blush, his orbs darting aimlessly. "But I've never actually kissed anyone - I might not be as good at it as -"

You cut it.

"I seriously doubt that."

This only makes him blush harder and you almost regret what you said, rushing to save him from the situation.

"B-but I can show you how, if you prefer."

You’re almost breathless at this point, vaguely reminding yourself that you’re no queen of the experience either, but when he nods eagerly, everything flies out the window and it’s like the pulsing muscle in your chest has given up on this whole adrenaline show and simply stopped beating.

Well, that’s it, you think as you push the boxes of Chocolate Frogs onto the rug with trembling fingers and move closer to Ominis until your legs are touching.

You’re almost facing each other on the couch now, his breath fanning your face, gentle and soft, and you stare for a moment into the milky expanse of his eyes. Pale skin dotted with a few beauty marks, perfectly sculpted jaw, elegant nose, flushed lips slightly parted.

For a moment, shame takes over you to the point where you almost turn around and beg him to pretend none of this happened. Almost. But his thumb lovingly caressing your knuckles is what grounds you in this moment once again.

You wouldn’t be a self-respecting Gryffindor if you gave up on your goals over a little embarrassment, would you?

“Right.”

You gently cup Ominis’ jaw between your fingers, delighted when he immediately leans into the touch, unable to hide the small hitch in your breath as you feels his heart rate spike as press on a pulse point.

You lean closer to him than you’ve ever been before, your noses not even four inches apart, his minty breath tickling your face. "Close your eyes, please,” your voice trembles weakly and you wet your lips before continuing, your skin so heated that you’re sure Ominis can feel the flames emanating from it without even touching you, “and then just do what feels right, I guess – let your body guide you.”

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore, but there he was, bathed in the flames of the braziers and the partial darkness of the Undercroft; his long, thick eyelashes fanning over his flushed cheekbones as he does exactly what you say, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in your life.

He keeps one hand covering yours to stroke your fingers back and forth, his other hand, however, is on his own thigh, clenched into a tight fist – like a restraint. Restraint for what? You’re not sure. But the possibilities still conjure a swarm of butterflies in your belly.

Ominis leans in a little closer, almost unconsciously, parting his lips and inhaling audibly as you exhale a soft sound. Your hand slides down the sharp line of his jaw, stroking the curve of his ear with your thumb until you rest your fingers delicately on the back of his neck, guiding him to extinguish the last few inches that separate you as you let your own eyes drift closed. With a tentative brush of your lip against his, you press forward, sealing your lips and your heart with his in that moment.

The first touch is nothing and absolutely everything you imagined.

You sigh.

For the first second you freeze, afraid that you have no idea what you would do now that you finally felt Ominis Gaunt's plush lips on yours, but apparently your previous advice to him is very convenient and your instincts take over the worry almost instantly.

Your lips mold between his like a perfect fit, soft and moist, his heat invading your mouth in shy puffs. You melt almost immediately, letting the kiss remain chaste - a firm but soft pressure, with gentle movements over his.

All tension drains from your body because this is familiar; sweet, warming your body from the inside, like drinking butterbeer with friends in front of a fireplace on a cold winter's day - comfortable, safe. But it also gives you an anxious tingle that makes you unconsciously squeeze your legs together; your stomach twists and turns with funny somersaults, the swarm of butterflies more agitated than ever.

Having your lips collide with his, the softness and fresh taste he exudes, you realize how much you miss this - even if it's the first time you're experiencing it with him. So much for emotional incoherence.

Ominis breathes a shaky, heated breath into your mouth, fingers releasing your hand to grip your wrist in an almost desperate gesture.

You're the first to pull back, suddenly dizzy, blushing even more when he chases your lips for a few inches before stopping himself. Through half-lidded eyes, you watch him slowly begin to open his too, a dazed look on his face, with panting lips and rosy cheeks that make him look both childish and incredibly sinful at the same time.

"O-Ominis," you whisper, panting as if you've just finished climbing one of the mountains in the Highlands. “That was…”

In a game-changing moment, he furrows his brows and locks his jaw once before parting his lips to say, “Can we do this again? I mean, do you want to… will you let me do it again? Like, right now?”

Despite your earlier determination, you find yourself whipped by the abrupt change in his tone. At the restless eagerness in his breathy voice, at the possessive grip on your wrist. How, in the blink of an eye, the tables seem to have been turned and he’s the one taking control now. But inexplicably, your own greed for more collides with his and you find yourself nodding, before remembering that he couldn’t possibly see your silent consent.

“Yes, please…”

Unlike you thought, he doesn’t immediately pull you to his lips. What he does, however, stuns you more than any alternative. His fingers, long and elegant, adorned with a few rings that are surely worth more than your life, close around the sides of your waist as soon as the words leave your lips, hoisting your body off the couch with such blatant ease that it would surprise you if you didn’t have more shocking things to deal with at the moment. Like, for example, the fact that he made you sit facing him.

On his lap.

You gasp, absolutely mortified, but, removed from all logic, you make no move to escape his grip; allowing your legs to remain parted on the sides of his thighs, hips against his, hands gripping his broad shoulders for stability.

Ominis, unlike you, seems quite at ease with the awkward position he’s placed you in, releasing your waist to tentatively raise his cold fingers to your burning face, pale blue eyes intensely and greedily locked on your features - features he could never see. Not in the usual way.

“I can?”

Deeply disturbed by the way he’s looking at you and how quickly things have climbed, you can’t find the words to respond, choosing instead to take both of his wrists in your delicate, trembling fingers and guide his hands to your face. You try to control your rapid breathing as his fingers trace the angles of your eyebrows and jaw and the soft roundness of your cheeks and chin, the icy feel of his rings prickling your skin. His eyes slowly close, his brows furrowed in concentration, as if he’s replicating the image of your face in his mind.

“You always smell like honey and lemon tea leaves.” He murmurs with a satisfied hum, and your eyelashes flutter along with your heart as he traces the arch of your eyebrow and then the line of your nose. Your mouth falls open unconsciously when his fingers touch the softness of your lower lip, and it’s Ominis who gasps this time. You watch in embarrassed ecstasy as his face darkens with a blush, the muscle in his jaw twitching once more, his thick eyelashes fluttering over the apple of his cheeks.

You nervously smooth the green hood of the robe around his neck, playing with the texture of the fabric to distract yourself from the intense emotions that threaten to make you faint.

“Your heart is beating so loud I can hear it from here,” he says softly, tracing the delicate cupid’s bow over your lips, a mischievous tug at the right corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widen a little as you let out a shy giggle, still pretending to maintain a confidence that has surely flown out the window long ago. Ominis once told you that since he lacked the fundamental sense of sight, his other senses have been immensely enhanced over the years, including hearing. And, well, your heart was beating so loudly and unkindly as the quickening footsteps of a Graphorn.

The thorough exploration stops for a moment so he can gently cup your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, and you feel the slightest pressure toward him. He pulls you straight to him.

Your faces are almost touching once more. You feel his soft breath on your cheek, hear his light but greedy intake of breath. His grip tightens the tiniest fraction.

Soft lips press against your cheek.

He doesn’t rush at all. The kiss lingers. A warm, syrupy sensation spreads through your body. Your hands tighten in the fabric around his neck. His lips press a little deeper, the tip of his nose nudging your temple affectionately. A warm sigh blows over your flushed skin before he pulls away. His fingers trail, impossibly soft, along your jaw in comforting movements as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, your other cheek, and another to the tip of your nose. His contradiction shocks you as much as it always has; how one moment he can be shy and hesitant and the next the most confident and dominant person in the world.

“So beautiful, sweet girl.”

You’re about to scream, bubbles of affection and desire exploding in your chest, your fingers itching to pull him in for another kiss. Wanting — no, needing — his lips on yours once more. You don’t have much control left, though. He’s stolen your confidence and turned it into a messy, tangled puddle of wants. You know what you want, but you don’t dare take it. Not when he’s clearly calling the shots like this. You’re frozen, barely breathing, and only vaguely aware that he’s touching your neck now, tilting your head so your faces are pressed together as he push his lips to yours again.

Merlin, yes

This time you actually shiver beneath his fingers, a helpless noise rising from your throat straight to his mouth. His other hand tightens around your waist, and the one on your neck slides into your hair, his fingers digging into your scalp.

This kiss is clearly different from the last, bolder and hungrier from the first contact. And you actually find yourself questioning the veracity of his claim about being inexperienced at this, because by Merlin' sake, he certainly seems very skilled to you.

You assume this is another one of those inexplicable situations where he’s exceptionally good at whatever it is he sets out to do, even if it’s the first time he’s doing it. The thought almost irritates you, as it reminds you of your first kiss — the one that was an awkward, painful mess of teeth chattering and more saliva than there should have been. But just as quickly as the feeling appears, it’s gone.

Your head feels light and buoyant, and it feels a lot like being enchanted with a Wingardium Leviosa the exact moment his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. Then, all you can seem to hold in your mind is the sensation — the heat of his tongue in your mouth, the almost painful stab as he pulls your head back by your hair, the shocking, abject excitement that surges as he starts to act more roughly. You moan, and he wraps his arm around your back to pull you so close to him that your chests are pressed tightly together.

You’re not sure when you do it, but behind your closed lids you swear you see entire constellations exploding with the sensations he gives you with his kiss.

There’s a certain degree of inexperience in the way his tongue moves inside your mouth, but that’s nothing more than a tiny detail when compared to the absolute hunger with which he seems to want to devour you. His saliva, like all of him, seems to melt on your tongue with the most addictive mint flavor - and, deliciously, the lingering taste of the chocolate you both ate not long ago.

It’s all overwhelming, perfect but overwhelming, and the dizziness comes faster than you could have anticipated, making your movements slower and heavier. A wet breath, a grunt from him, another maddening kiss, lips seeking lips, soft cotton under your fingertips. Ominis’s robe feels like a lifeline, and you grab it with everything you’ve got.

If you focused on something other than the sensation, you might notice how heated you both are and how flushed you look. Maybe you could notice Ominis’ hand gently releasing the death grip of your hand on his robe to place the aching fingers on the back of his head.

Just when your nails unconsciously scrape his scalp to pull a few strands of blond hair between your fingers, Ominis parts his lips between yours to release the most sinful of sounds — something that lies somewhere between a growl and a moan, and the thing goes like a lightning bolt straight between your legs.

It’s you who pulls him back into a feverish kiss this time, wet, breathy sounds escaping you both between the clash of your tongues as you press against each other. You’re hyper-aware of how hard he is beneath you, his length straining against the fabric of his uniform pants, and you blush — but you want him even more. Delicately but purposefully, you catch his swollen bottom lip between your teeth to tug once before licking it, but Ominis gasps so loudly and closes his hand around your neck so unexpectedly that you actually choke on a startled, high-pitched sound.

Regardless of the adrenaline rush the action generates, or perhaps precisely because of it, you brace your knees better on the couch around him, rocking your pelvis against Ominis’s before you even realize what you’re doing, enjoying the strangled gasp he lets out despite the almost fierce grip on yyour throat.

“Again. Do it again,” he breathes against your lips, resting his forehead against yours, and you do. Ominis begins to move too, thrusting his hips up while you thrust yours down, getting into a rhythm that has you both gasping in the silence of the Undercroft, the flames of the braziers the only other noises to be heard around.

His hand slides under your shirt without any warning, over the soft skin of your stomach and to the edge of your bra before pushing it up and over your breast. The shock of his cold fingers on your heated skin is so much that you cry out, your nipple hardening in his broad palm as you push harder against him, and the shuddering gasp that leaves him in response has you aching to touch him too. And, by Godric, has the Undercroft always been this suffocatingly heat?

You pull apart for air as Ominis chases your lips with his, the feverish movements of your hips momentarily ceasing.

“Ominis…?” Your unspoken question hangs in the air between you, curious, thirsty to know how far you both intend to let this go.

His nose brushes against yours, his brows furrowed in anguish, his eyes pale and intense. “Every…Every single time I heard you, or smelled you near, I felt this. This desire. I’ve imagined you, like this, with me. So many times. It’s always been you. I want this so bad.”

“Y-yes,” you whisper as breathlessly as he does, your words a shared secret between you two and the darkness. “I want this too. I want you.”

He sighs in rapture, pressing his grip on your throat a fraction further, kneading his hand over your breast until he catches a nipple between his fingers, teasing the flesh with the cold silver of his signet ring. “Then don’t stop. Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

The commanding quality in his normally restrained tone coupled with his unusual choice of dirty language causes a spontaneous clench in the wet region between your legs. With unsteady fingers you snake your hand under his shirt, mimicking the same liberty he’s taken with you, and feel his back arch in response as you slide your soft and warm palm across the hard planes of his abdomen. With your other hand, you hold a silky handful of his hair, pulling him into a hard kiss as you roll your hips over him again - both of you moaning at the sensual grinding of your intimate parts.

“Baby, just like that -” he breathes shakily as he pulls away from the kiss and turns his head. At first you think he might just be hiding his face in the crook of your neck, but when you feel a pair of warm lips on the delicate flesh of that area your eyes flutter shut.

“Ominis,” is all you can manage to say as you tilt your head to the side for better access and hold him tighter by the grip on the back of his neck, rolling your hips to press yourself against the Slytherin as he begins to gently suck on the sensitive skin.

There are so many layers between the two of you. Ominis’s pants, his underwear, your panties, the heavy robes draped over your bodies, the uniform shirts. Barriers that at the moment only serve to prevent the actual touch of skin on skin. And, Merlin, you want so badly to feel his skin against yours, but you feel like you can’t rush it. Either way, neither of you seem to have the patience for the task at the moment, his mouth on your neck feeling so incredibly good that you can’t think of stopping him from continuing – not even so you can undress.

This intimacy with him already surpasses any practical experience you’ve had, any previous secret make out session. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is more than you’ve ever felt before – more electrifying than raiding Goblin and Ashwinder encampments, more than rescuing a Hippogriff right under Theophilus Harlow’s nose, more than completing a Trial from one of the Keepers. And the sheer euphoria and newness of it all, the overwhelming and unfamiliar sensations, his panting breaths in your ear, the needy grip of his hands on your body, his cock pressed greedily between your legs – and, most of all, the fact that it’s him, is pushing you rapidly towards your inevitable end. You’ll come soon, and for the first time, not from your own fingers.

Ominis licks a particularly hard bite mark he’s just left (in a place that’s going to be pretty troublesome to hide, you think) and pulls back a few inches as you both move together, leaving you alone to deal with the overwhelming image of his face carved in lust; the way his porcelain skin flushes and his kiss swollen mouth opens in a long sigh, pearly eyes half-lidded between his thick lashes as he grinds eagerly against you, the normally perfectly straight strands of hair now messy from your fidgeting fingers, falling across his forehead in a way that’s disturbingly sexy.

“I thought something like this would never happen. I never thought you’d want me the same way. Not someone like me.”

The way he speaks, breathless and feverish, yet so vulnerable and sincere, has you tearing up before you even realize it, sinking your fingers into the space between his chest, right above where his heart flutters like the wings of a Golden Snitch.

“Ominis...you’re so beautiful. You’re perfect. I-I’m so sorry I didn’t notice your feelings before. But I’m here now - you have me now.”

The breath seems to be knocked out of him by your words and you can taste his need as your mouths push together again in a slick mess of saliva and teeth - this time in the right way. Your own mind goes blank, any capacity for thought draining from you as he releases your breast to bring both hands under the skirt of your uniform, possessively grabbing the soft cheeks of your ass between his fingers to pull your body in time with his thrusts.

“Salazar, how can you be so good?” He groans as he breaks the kiss and shamelessly grinds your quivering pussy against his swollen cock, the fabric of his pants growing wet - as much his fault as yours. “Oh, I…fuck, y/n, harder. Harder, baby, please.”

You feel like your face is literally on fire, but you do as you’re told, grinding yourself hard against Ominis and watching with hypnotic attention as his eyes drift closed, his head tilting back against the back of the couch as his hips thrust upwards more roughly. The Adam’s apple in his slender, pale throat bobs with each hard swallow, his skin beginning to glisten with a subtle sheen of sweat. He’s so gorgeous, the sight of him ravished like this is so enchanting that it takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s mumbling something - and a few more seconds for it to sink in that you don’t understand the language.

Because he’s speaking in Parseltongue.

You don’t think he even realizes what he’s doing, considering his reservations about the dialect, too lost in the dizzying rush of pleasure. You are, however, hyperaware of the sounds that flow with hypnotic fluidity from his parted lips; harsh hisses, elongated chirps, vibrant trills of a pink tongue…

You may not understand what he’s saying, but you don’t need to be an expert in the speech to know that it’s definitely not something that should be said in public.

Your cheeks flush as he hisses something that sounds particularly filthy through clenched teeth, skin flushed and eyebrows furrowed in an almost irritated frown — which only makes him more irresistible to your eyes.

You can’t help the way your legs widen to their maximum limits, trying to mold your pussy to the thick line of his cock hidden beneath his pants as best you can.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he whispers, seemingly back to normal speech (a part of you regrets this), his mouth opening in a guttural moan.

“O-Ominis—” You say, tasting his name in your mouth and it almost sounds like a question, but he fucks himself harder against you, clawing at the flesh of your ass to keep you in place, thrusting his hips into yours until you’re moaning louder — even with the barrier of fabric separating you, you feel it perfectly when the rounded head of his cock manages to hit the exact spot where your clit is.

“Louder,” he growls, lifting his head to you once more, chasing that beautiful sound that came out of your mouth like a starving man. “Let me hear who you’re rubbing yourself against like that.” He leans down and licks a stripe down your throat to your ear.

“Oh, Ominis—” You gasp louder, arching your neck to give him more acess. You can’t even finish your sentence, your lips parted in an “o” as his cock pushes against your pussy in the sweetest way. Your thighs are trembling now, and it feels so good, and you’re going to come, you know you will. “Please, please, you’re going to make me-” the muscles in your stomach are already clenching in anticipation, your back arching, and there’s a high-pitched sound wanting to rip from your throat and you know it’s going to be loud if you can’t control yourself.

“Come on, that’s it, just like that,” he rasps, and your moans grow more intrepid, until they finally turn into desperate gasps as you feel yourself one small step away from the edge.

It feels a little like going crazy, like being out of your mind, just using each other, fucking dirty and rough through your clothes, and you barely realize you’re digging your nails into the skin of his chest until Ominis’s head is jerking back, a sound that fluctuates between a moan of pleasure and pain leaving his lips — even as he murmurs a ‘keep going, please don’t stop.’

“Give it to me, my pretty girl,” he murmurs breathlessly, and you pull the blond strands of his hair between your fingers, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open with sounds that only make his grip on your ass grow greedier. Fuck, that feels good. “Come on, y/n, baby—”

His needy plea is what sends you flying over the edge. Within seconds, your eyes are watering hard, a spiral of lightning-fast heat hitting you as your pussy flutters and clenches around emptiness, the familiar wetness soaking your panties even more.

You cover your mouth a second too late, nearly choking on the scream you muffle into the sweaty palm of the hand that was once under his shirt, your orgasm ripping through your body without any subtlety. Neurons collapsing, couch creaking with the force of your movements, vision blurring and darkening at the edges - but Ominis isn't done with you.

When your drunken gaze flickers open to focus on his face, you notice how absolutely enraptured he looks, his pale eyes locked on your face as if he can actually see you in your breakdown.

Your body is limp and shaking, but you press your forehead against his as he struggles to keep up the pace now that you've given in to exhaustion. Your mouth is parted as he breathes in and out right next to your lips, eyes half-lidded. You lean in to kiss him gently on the lips as he thrusts hard into you, cupping his face to pepper kisses across his cheeks amidst his moans.

One of the hands on your ass comes up to tangle in your hair and tilt your head back so he can kiss your jaw. He thrusts into you hard enough that your body jumps up, but you hold on to him as best you can. Your bodies as entangled as they can be.

You even try to muster the strength to rock your hips against him, but his fingers in your ass tighten to keep you in place as he picks up the pace himself.

His fingers were digging into your flesh and your hair so hard it would have been painful in any other scenario. But not in this one. As it was, it was a reminder of how deep he was falling, how much he seemed to need this, need you, judging by his noises. 

“Come on,” you whisper when you manage to slide your lips to his ear, both of you sweaty and flushed, your little fingers scratching the back of his neck in comforting motions as you encourage him to reach his limit, “come for me, Ominis. Please, please -”

It works. Ominis parts his lips almost immediately, giving a husky moan of release that makes your pussy quiver back to life, his larger body tensing beneath yours, shuddering once, twice. His pale, cloudy eyes look watery for a few seconds, and his perfectly chiseled cheekbones are stained with the most charming blush beneath the sweat on his skin — fuck, gorgeous, that’s what he is.

He collapses back against the couch completely after a while, his arms wrapping around your smaller frame to keep you clinging to him. Not that he needs to. You’re too languid to move. Too exhausted and spent to care about anything or anyone other than him.

His head rests against your collarbone, rising and falling with your ragged breaths. Your arms wrap around him, your hand still lightly stroking his hair. There are blond strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, and you do your best to brush them back when he looks up at you, though his eyes are still closed, visibly pleased with the end result of this study session.

His own fingers run through the unruly strands of hair around your face, brushing a few behind your ear with a gentle caress. He opens his eyes after a while, orbs cloudy and ethereal, but you swear you can see an infinite constellation of glowing dots on their pale screen.

“I…” he begins hesitantly, his voice a little firmer now, though he still wets his swollen lips before continuing. “This meant a lot to me. You have no idea how much. But I don’t want to assume anything - I just, you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to - you know, don’t feel like you have to be with me just because I…” he sighs, swallowing hard, trying to find the words to say something you already understand.

“Shhh,” you place the tip of your index finger over his lips, chuckling softly when he blushes, “I may have taken a while to realize it, but I also want to see where this can lead us. I do, Ominis.”

He sighs in relief, as if he’s come up for air after a long time underwater, cradling your face between the broad palms of his hands.

"Salazar, that's so good to hear. I really didn't know how I was going to go back to acting like just friends after what happened, if it was your decision." He murmurs seriously, but his sharp features are relaxed as he rests his forehead against yours.

"Don't be so dramatic." You roll your eyes as weakly scold him, though your heart is warm and cozy inside your chest, embracing this moment for what it is - precious. "Didn't you hear what I said just now?"

He pulls back a few inches, his nose wrinkling slightly as he tries to figure out what you're talking about.

He's so cute.

You can't help yourself before you purse your lips into a pout and plant a tender kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I told you you have me now, little fool."

The smile he gives you in response is extremely rare; full and bright, two cute dimples on each side of the cheeks, showing off his perfect teeth; everything as charming as the rest of him. Even though he doesn't say anything after your declaration, seeing something so unusual directed at you already tells you everything you need to know. You sigh in excitement, letting him pull you by the nape of your neck for another kiss, pouring all the adoration he feels for you into the act.

Your skin is sticky with sweat, your hair a mess of knots, your clothes wrinkled and askew, the space between you a wet, embarrassing mess - the heat from both of your robes heating your skin to an almost suffocating level. But neither of you makes any move to separate, or even to pick up your wands and cast a simple cleaning spell - too enraptured with each other and so completely satisfied that you happily ignore everything else.

You feel so happy. And, most importantly, ready for what is to come.

Outside the castle, the snow falls without stopping, freezing everything around with its cloud of crystals. But here, in this dusty and unlikely place for romance, you feel safe and warm.

His chest tightened at the thought of the ceremony, the vows, the look he imagined you’d give him as you forced to say, I do.

He wished you still saw him the way you did all those years ago, back when you’d shared tentative smiles across the library table, before fifth year shattered everything between you. He’d thought you were remarkable then—fierce, clever, and endlessly loyal to the people you cared about. He still thought so, though the years had placed a wall between you.

A wall he had built.

His hands clenched into fists, the metal of the ring biting into his palm. He could still hear the echo of your argument, that fateful day when Sebastian’s descent into darkness had reached its breaking point. You had wanted to help him, to pull him back, while Ominis had been determined to stop him at any cost. The two of you had stood on opposite sides of a chasm, and in his frustration, his fear, Ominis had pushed you away.

But now? Now, you were to be his bride.

The marriage contract had been delivered two months ago, the parchment sealed with the Gaunt crest and bearing the oppressive weight of their expectations. You had no grand family name, no wealth or influence to rival the Gaunts, but you had something far more valuable: ancient magic.

Your family had no power to refuse the offer—not when the Gaunts were known for their ruthlessness. You’d been given no choice, and neither had he.

Ominis exhaled a shaky breath, setting the ring down on the desk with a soft clink.

The bitter irony was that you had been right about Sebastian all along, and Ominis had destroyed what you had years ago for nothing.

Ominis had doubted Sebastian—had believed that his obsession with dark magic would destroy everything and everyone in its path. But eventually, with time and a painful amount of humility, Sebastian had begun to heal. He had come back to them. He had proven himself capable of change, of redemption.

And you’d seen it all along.

Ominis swallowed hard, the guilt twisting his stomach. You’d begged him to give Sebastian a chance, to believe in the person he could be. But Ominis had been too blinded by his own fears to listen. His distrust had cost him Sebastian’s friendship for years. And worse, it had cost him you ever since.

He rested his head in his hands, elbows braced on the desk. The weight of it all was suffocating.

The memory of your expression when you’d arrived at the Gaunt manor two days ago lingered in his mind.

Even without the clarity of sight, he could feel the weight you carried. He’d “seen” the stiffness in your shoulders, the faint tremor in your hands as you’d clasped them in front of you, your head turning ever so slightly toward him as his parents greeted you. For a fleeting second, he’d felt your attention, a thin, aching tether between you.

But you hadn’t spoken to him. Not then, and not since.

What could he possibly say to make this better? “I’m sorry” was laughable at this point. He was sorry, of course—sorry for every cruel word spoken in the heat of fifth year, sorry for not trusting you, sorry for not preventing you from falling into the Gaunt nightmare—but no apology could undo the damage.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He straightened, smoothing his hair as if that would make any difference. “Come in,” he called, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and one of the Gaunt family’s house-elves stepped hesitantly into the room. “Master Ominis,” the elf began, its voice trembling, “your bride-to-be is in the garden, sir.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” he asked, his throat dry.

“She—she is pacing, sir. She looks… upset.“

Ominis nodded, rising from his chair. “Thank you,” he said, though the elf was already retreating, bowing its way out of the room.

You were upset. Of course, you were. Why wouldn’t you be? Tomorrow, you were being forced to marry him and tie yourself to a family that cared only about what they could take from you. And worse, tied to him—a man who had pushed you away when you’d needed him most, who had no right to ask anything of you, least of all forgiveness.

But the thought of you pacing alone in the gardens, trapped in your own swirling emotions, was unbearable. Ominis didn’t know if he could say anything to help, but he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

He moved swiftly through the dark corridors, and when he reached the door to the garden, he paused, letting his wand hum faintly to map the space before him. He sensed the vast openness of the ahead, the night air cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and dying roses.

And there you were.

Your silhouette materialized in his mind like a shadow against the darkness. You were pacing, just as the house-elf had said, your movements quick and restless. It was a knife to Ominis’s chest, seeing the person he cared for so deeply reduced to this.

Care.

No, he thought bitterly, that wasn’t the right word. He loved you. He had loved you since before he even understood what love truly was. And that made it all so much worse.

Because you would never love him.

Ominis stood stiffly in the doorway. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too consumed by your thoughts and frantic steps that sent gravel crunching underfoot. But when he shifted his weight, the faint sound of his movement caught your attention. You stopped abruptly, your head turning toward him, your posture instantly stiffening.

“Ominis,” you said, your voice calm but sharp like the edge of a blade. “…Couldn’t sleep?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He recognized the tension in your tone, the way you carefully shielded yourself with polite indifference. It was the same tone you’d used with his parents when you arrived, the one where he’d sensed every ounce of resentment you’d tucked away beneath a mask of cordiality.

“No,” he said softly, stepping further into the garden. “I was told you were out here.”

“Of course,” you replied, your voice carrying a detached sort of humor. "Not allowed a moment of solitude, hm?"

Ominis flinched inwardly, his wand picking up on the subtle tremor in your hands as you folded your arms across your chest.

“I thought… perhaps you might want to talk,” he said carefully, his voice low.

“With you? No,” you replied quickly, brushing off the suggestion as though it didn’t matter. You turned your back to him. “Talking to you won’t help.”

Ominis winced but didn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, the night air growing heavier with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth.

You laughed, soft and humorless, as you turned back toward the fountain. “Sorry,” you echoed. “Of course. And that makes it all better, does it?”

He took a hesitant step closer, his wand pulsing faintly to track the distance between you. “I mean it,” he said. “I wish things were different.”

“Do you?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. ““Because last time I checked, you’re the one who pushed me away."

Ominis froze, the accusation cutting through him like a blade. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

You turned fully to face him now, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Do you think I don’t remember?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of unspoken emotion. “The things you said to me? The way you looked at me, like I was… like I was the problem?”

“That’s not what I—” Ominis started, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, one that lacked any real humor.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Nothing either of us says now will change anything. And tomorrow, we’ll stand in front of your family and say the words they want to hear."

You turned abruptly, your footsteps crunching against the gravel as you moved past him. “Goodnight, Ominis,” you said, your tone clipped and distant as you made your way back toward the manor.

He turned slightly, his wand picking up the blur of your retreating figure as you disappeared into the cold, sterile halls of the estate. The faint trace of your magic lingered in the air, turbulent and raw, and he hated himself for not being able to ease it.

~~~

Morning came like a thief, stealing away the fragile moments of sleep Ominis had clung to in the restless hours of the night. The Gaunt manor, usually oppressive in its quiet, was unnaturally alive with activity. House-elves scurried through the halls, their frantic movements punctuated by the clinking of silver trays and hurried whispers. His parents had spared no effort to make the day grand, though their motives were far from sentimental.

Even worse, his extended family had descended like vultures, eager to witness the union that would bind your ancient magic to the Gaunt bloodline. Even Ominis’s older brother, Marvolo, had returned from his work abroad for the occasion, his mere presence enough to sour the air. Ominis had always loathed Marvolo—arrogant, cruel, and every bit the model Gaunt heir their parents had hoped for. The rest of the family wasn’t much better. Aunts, uncles, and distant cousins he resented filled the halls, their haughty laughter echoing off the cold stone walls.

Ominis moved through the chaos like a ghost, his mind as numb as his steps. He had imagined marrying you a hundred—no, a thousand—times, but never like this.

In his dreams, you loved him back. Your smiles were soft and unguarded, your laughter warm, your hand reaching for his not out of duty, but out of choice. But those dreams had always been fragile, built on a shaky foundation of what-ifs and hope he’d never dared voice aloud.

You wedding band weighed heavily in his pocket, a cruel reminder of the vows he would unwittingly force you to take. He told himself he was doing this to protect you—that he was backed into a corner with no way out. It wasn’t a lie. His parents had made their expectations clear: defy them, and Ominis would pay the price. The Gaunts had always been dangerous, even to their own blood. He’d seen it with his older cousins, the ones who had been disowned or “disappeared” for daring to cross the family.

And that didn’t even encompass what they might do to you.

The sharp knock on his door startled him. Ominis straightened instinctively, brushing a hand over his hair as if readying himself for battle.

“It’s me,” Sebastian’s voice called through the heavy wood, rough but familiar.

“Come in,” Ominis replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and Sebastian stepped inside, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. He was dressed sharply, though his tie was slightly crooked—a detail Ominis would have pointed out if he’d had the energy to notice.

“You look like hell,” Sebastian said, crossing the room and leaning against the desk.

“I feel worse,” Ominis admitted, lowering himself into the chair by the window.

Sebastian tilted his head, scrutinizing Ominis with a sharpness that felt impossible to ignore.

“…You love her, don’t you?” Sebastian asked suddenly, his voice blunt and cutting straight to the point. He had never been one to dance around difficult questions.

Ominis let out a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one,” Sebastian said, standing straighter, arms crossed. “Do. You. Love. Her?”

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back as though seeking answers from the cracked ceiling above. “You already know the answer to that, Sebastian,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “You’ve always known.”

“Humor me,” Sebastian pressed.

Ominis’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Of course I love her. I’ve always loved her. Since before I even understood what that meant. And you know that. So why ask?”

Sebastian scoffed, fixing Ominis with an unrelenting stare. “Because you’re acting like this is the end of the world. You love her. And now you’re marrying her. She’s about to be your wife.”

Ominis turned his head sharply, his sightless gaze narrowing slightly. “My wife?” His voice rose, edged with frustration. “This isn’t a marriage, Sebastian. It’s a transaction. A cage.” He gestured vaguely toward the window, where the distant hum of laughter and footsteps filled the courtyard. “She doesn’t want this. And she certainly doesn’t want me.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his calmness almost maddening. “But you love her,” he pointed out again. “That means you can make something of this. You can try.”

Ominis let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Try what? To pretend that she doesn’t hate me?” He shook his head, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with anguish. “She does hate me, Sebastian. And why wouldn’t she?”

Sebastian frowned, his expression flickering with guilt. “You were scared. We all were. What happened back then…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t easy for any of us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ominis snapped. “I made my choices. And now, she thinks I’m no better than my parents.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. “She thinks I’m just like them, putting her through this. And maybe she’s right.”

“She doesn’t think that. You’re nothing like your parents,” Sebastian said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if you’d stop wallowing in self-pity for half a second, you might see that she doesn’t actually hate you.”

Ominis scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Sebastian said, beginning to pace the room with his usual restless energy. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Ominis. She’s hurt, sure. Angry. But hate? No.”

Ominis leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “You’re imagining things,” he muttered.

“Am I?” Sebastian challenged, stopping in his tracks to face him. “You’ve spent years convincing yourself she hates you, but did you ever stop to actually talk to her about it? Or did you just decide she hated you because it was easier than dealing with the mess you made?”

The words hit their mark, and Ominis flinched. He couldn’t deny it. He had avoided you for years, too ashamed of his actions to face you properly. He had assumed the worst because it was safer than hoping for anything else.

Sebastian sighed heavily, glancing over at the ornate clock hanging on the wall. The ticking sound, once faint, now seemed to echo in the room like a countdown to inevitability. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking back to Ominis.

“We’re out of time,” he said flatly. “They’re going to be expecting us downstairs.”

Ominis didn’t move at first, his hands still gripping the arms of his chair. He looked like a man on the edge of breaking, and for a moment, Sebastian considered calling the whole thing off himself. But he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. This wasn’t a fight they could win—not here, not now.

“Come on,” Sebastian urged, his voice softer. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ominis exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. He stood, his movements stiff and reluctant, his fingers brushing down the front of his suit as though trying to compose himself. His family had ensured every detail of his appearance was perfect—he looked every bit the polished Gaunt heir, the image they demanded. But inside, he felt hollow.

Sebastian gave him a faint nod, adjusting his own crooked tie. “You’ll survive this,” he said with a slight smile. “Everything will work out.”

Ominis didn’t respond, his throat too tight to form words. Instead, he followed Sebastian out of the room, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the distant hum of activity that filled the manor. Every step felt heavier than the last, the anticipation building in his chest like a storm.

The courtyard garden had been transformed into a grand display of pure-blood prestige. Rows of white chairs lined the manicured lawn, and a narrow aisle flanked by enchanted, softly glowing flowers led to an altar at the far end. Ivy climbed the stone arch that framed the altar, its dark green tendrils twisting delicately around clusters of pale blossoms.

Ominis stood at the altar, his back straight and his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his wand tucked away in his sleeve. The suit he wore was immaculate, tailored perfectly to his tall, lean frame. But even as he stood there, a picture of composure, his mind churned with unease.

Beyond him, countless guests sat in waiting—pure-bloods from every corner of their miserable society, their presence a suffocating reminder of the world he had tried—and failed—to escape.

His extended family dominated the seats closest to the altar, their self-satisfied smirks and sharp whispers grating against his already frayed nerves. The Gaunts had arrived in full force, a parade of arrogance and entitlement, each one more intolerable than the last.

Ominis’s parents sat in the front row, their expressions masks of triumph. His mother, draped in rich emerald, surveyed the scene with quiet pride, while his father sat like a statue, his posture rigid, his face a cold, unyielding mask. And then there was Marvolo, lounging casually in his seat beside them, his smirk a permanent fixture as though the entire event were for his personal amusement.

Across the aisle sat the members of your family, their expressions far less composed. Your mother’s hands were folded tightly in her lap, her face pale and drawn as she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze, eyes flicking nervously between the guests and the altar.

The contrast between them and the Gaunts couldn’t have been starker. Ominis’s family were predators, their confidence unshakable, while yours looked like cornered prey. And you… you were the sacrificial offering, the tether between their worlds.

The low hum of chatter faded as the first notes of music filled the courtyard, soft and lilting yet as heavy as a tolling bell. Ominis stiffened, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. This was it. The beginning of the end. The melody floated through the air, a cruel, elegant herald of what was to come.

He couldn’t breathe.

The sound of footsteps against the stone aisle cut through the music, and Ominis’s wand pulsed faintly in his sleeve, mapping the space before him. In his mind’s eye, he saw them—two figures approaching the altar. Anne and Sebastian. The only two friends he had managed to invite to this sham of a wedding. His parents had objected, of course, but for once, Ominis had refused to yield. If they were going to strip away every ounce of choice from this union, he would at least ensure that two people who truly cared about either of you would stand witness.

Anne walked with quiet grace beside her brother, her head held high and her movements calm, even as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. She had always been your rock, and now, she looked every bit the part.

Sebastian, meanwhile, walked with his usual subtle defiance, his jaw clenched as though he were biting back a dozen remarks that would surely have caused a scene.

As the Sallow twins joined Ominis at the altar, the music softened, a momentary pause that signaled what came next.

And then, you appeared.

The air in the courtyard seemed to shift as the music swelled once more, drawing every gaze to the entrance. Ominis’s wand hummed, and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he could truly see.

Shapes and shadows sharpened in his mind, the lines of the archway and the glow of the enchanted lanterns framing you like a painting. Your figure materialized with unprecedented clarity, every detail irreversibly etching itself into his memory.

You were breathtaking.

The soft glow of the lanterns seemed to chase after you down the aisle, casting a warm, ethereal light as you stepped forward, arm looped through your father’s. Your gown was simple yet striking, its flowing fabric a cascade of soft ivory that hugged your figure just enough to suggest elegance without excess.

Your hair was swept into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face and neck, accentuating the graceful curve of your collarbone. The tasteful touch of makeup enhanced your features without overpowering them, the faint flush of color on your cheeks and lips lending you an almost otherworldly glow. You looked every bit the part of a bride—refined, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully. Despite everything, despite knowing how wrong this was, he allowed himself a single moment of cruel, fleeting hope. He imagined that this was real. That you had chosen this. That the soft shimmer of your gown, the elegance of your updo, the deliberate grace with which you moved—all of it was for him.

For a heartbeat, he believed it. That you had taken your father’s arm and walked toward him because you loved him. That your choice to stand before this crowd, to become his wife, was born of something true, not forced by the iron will of his family.

But reality was cruel.

He could feel it in the tremor of your hand as you reached the altar, in the absence of warmth in your fleeting glance as your eyes locked with his. There was no joy in your expression, no affection, only quiet resolve and resignation. You weren’t here for him. You were here because you had no other choice.

Your father released your arm hesitantly, his hand lingering for a brief moment as though reluctant to let go. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight as he gave you a faint nod. You stepped forward alone, taking your place across from Ominis.

He caught the slight hitch in your breath as the officiant spoke. It was subtle—so subtle that no one else would have noticed—but to him, it felt like a scream. He wanted to reach for you, to close the distance, to bridge the gap he had created all those years ago. But his hands remained at his sides, his palms clammy against the cool fabric of his trousers.

The officiant’s words droned on, his low, measured tone a blur in Ominis’s ears. He could barely hear it over the roaring in his chest, the heavy thud of his heartbeat as he focused entirely on you.

And then the moment came.

“Do you, Ominis Gaunt, take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The words cut through the fog in his mind like a knife. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated, his throat tightening painfully. He could feel his parents’ gaze burning into him, his father’s unyielding authority pressing down like a lead weight. The crowd’s silence was deafening, expectant, suffocating.

His lips parted, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them, heavy and hollow.

“I do.”

The officiant turned to you, repeating the same question.

“And do you take Ominis Gaunt to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Ominis held his breath, his entire body tense as he waited for your response. The pause that followed felt endless, each second stretching into an eternity. For a moment, he thought you might refuse.

But when you spoke, your voice was quiet and steady, though devoid of any joy.

“I do.”

The words hung in the air, final and irreversible. The officiant’s voice rose again, completing the ritual with the formal pronouncement that sealed your fates.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Gaunt, you may now kiss your bride.”

Ominis froze.

How had he forgotten about this part? He’d imagined this twisted mockery of a wedding day a thousand times, and yet this moment—the one he had once dreamed of with such hope—had slipped through the cracks of his planning. The girl of his dreams was standing right there, so close he could feel the warmth of you, and now he was meant to kiss you.

His hands twitched at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as he forced himself to move. The crowd was watching, their silence heavy with expectation. His parents’ satisfaction was palpable, his extended family practically giddy at the spectacle. But all Ominis could focus on was you—the tension radiating from your frame, the subtle way your shoulders stiffened as you waited.

He stepped closer, his wand mapping the space between you. His hand hovered near your waist, uncertain, before finally settling there lightly. He could feel the delicate fabric of your gown beneath his palm, the warmth of your body through the material.

Ominis leaned in slowly, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain you could hear it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this, not with the weight of obligation hanging between you like a curse.

With his eyes fluttering closed, his lips brushed yours in the faintest, most hesitant of kisses. As he expected, you were still—frozen, unmoving, your lips soft but lifeless against his. The kiss was chaste, obligatory, and for a moment, it felt like a dagger to his heart.

And then something expected happened.

You kissed him back.

Ominis’s mind went blank, his senses overwhelmed. It was subtle at first—a gentle press, a shift in the way your lips moved against his. But then it deepened, and the world seemed to explode around him. Fireworks erupted in his mind, a kaleidoscope of sensation, your warmth spreading through him like wildfire.

The taste of your lips, soft and slightly sweet, was unlike anything he had ever known. It was perfect. You were perfect. In that moment, everything else faded away—the oppressive weight of the crowd’s gaze, the suffocating expectations of his family, the years of distance and resentment between you.

His hands tightened instinctively at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, and he revelled in the curve of you beneath his fingers. It was everything, you were everything, he had ever dreamed of and infinitely more.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

You pulled away slowly, your movements deliberate, as though reminding both of you that the moment had passed. Ominis’s hands lingered at your waist for a fraction of a second before he let them drop to his sides, his fingers curling slightly as though trying to hold on to the ghost of your touch.

His breath was unsteady as he straightened, his mind reeling. You’d kissed him back.

Why?

Had it been part of the performance? A calculated move to play the part of the perfect bride? Or had it been something else entirely?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The officiant’s voice rose again, announcing the end of the ceremony and you were slipping your hand into his. Swallowing hard, Ominis led you back down the aisle.

The crowd rose to their feet, their clapping a dull roar in his ears as he walked with you at his side. Every step felt surreal, the moment between you still crackling like static in his chest.

He didn’t dare look at you. Not now. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever answer your expression might hold.

But as the two of you passed beneath the ivy-draped arch, stepping into the unknown future that awaited you both, Ominis couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, that kiss had been real after all.

~~~

The reception had been nothing short of torturous for Ominis.

If the kiss at the altar had left him confused, the evening that followed only deepened the storm in his mind. Because from the moment you both entered the grand hall where the reception was held, you played the part of the happy bride.

You’d smile at Ominis, soft and convincing, allow him to hold your hand, to rest his palm lightly against the small of your back as the two of you made the rounds, greeting the guests who had gathered to witness your union.

You spoke to guests with grace and poise, weaving stories of your Hogwarts days into the conversation with ease. Tales of late-night library study sessions, Quidditch matches, and the occasional mischievous escapade were all recounted with a fondness that left Ominis reeling.

You spoke of those moments as though they had been golden—untarnished by the years of bitterness and distance that had followed. And for the guests, it was a perfect performance, a portrait of a couple deeply in love, bound not just by obligation but by shared memories and affection.

The guests were relentless in their attention, each one more insistent than the last in prying into your lives. How you met, what your future plans as a couple might be, when you fell in love, was it love at first sight.

Ominis had been stunned at how quickly you answered the last question. You didn’t miss a beat, your lips curling into a soft, polite smile. “Oh, absolutely not,” you said, your voice light with humor. “Our first meeting was… let’s say, less than ideal.”

His stomach twisted at your words, but you pressed on, the ease in your tone disarming the nosy crowd.

“He found me in his personal study spot,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis with a glimmer of something in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “I’ll never forget how furious he was.”

There were a few chuckles from the guests, and Ominis forced himself to smile faintly, though his mind was racing. He knew exactly what you were referring to. The Undercroft. But you’d never betray that secret, not even after all he'd done to you.

You went on, your tone growing softer, more reflective. “I thought I’d made a terrible first impression. And, well, I had.” A few more chuckles rippled through the group. “But a few days later, he apologized. He didn’t have to—he could’ve just ignored me forever—but he did. And...we became friends after that. It wasn’t easy at first. We’re both… stubborn.” You laughed lightly, the sound so genuine it felt like a blade cutting through the air. “But we figured it out.”

Ominis felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. These weren’t just pretty words spun to entertain the guests or to appease his family. This memory was real. Every moment you described was real.

In fact, he probably knew these memories better than you did, because he had held onto them as tightly as a drowning man clutches a piece of driftwood. They were the only part of you he’d been allowed to keep, and now, here you were, bringing them to life as though the years of distance and pain hadn’t fractured them beyond recognition.

“The moment I realized it was more than just friendship was not long after, right before Christmas,” you continued, your gaze growing distant as though you were looking back into the past. “We’d spent the day shopping in Hogsmeade. The three of us—Ominis, Sebastian, and me.”

Ominis’s heart twisted at the mention of that day. He remembered it vividly, every detail coming to life in his mind as you spoke.

“It had started snowing that afternoon,” you continued, a soft smile curling at your lips. “We’d bought sweets at Honeydukes, browsed the shop windows, even picked up a few last-minute gifts. By the time we made it to the Three Broomsticks, we were freezing.”

The guests chuckled, and Ominis’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite himself. He could almost feel the icy wind again, the way your cheeks had flushed red from the cold.

“And then,” you said, your smile widening slightly, “Sebastian—being Sebastian—managed to spill an entire mug of butterbeer all over me. It was awful, I was absolutely soaked, sticky, and cold.”

More laughter rippled through the group, and Ominis felt a faint heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered the way you’d looked—your expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement as you tried to wring out your sleeves.

“But then,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis, “he gave me his coat.”

That was true. He had. Though Ominis hadn’t thought much of it at the time—he’d just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and warm. But now, hearing you speak of it, he realized maybe it had meant more than he’d ever understood.

“And not just that,” you said, your voice softening. “He left the Three Broomsticks, in the middle of the snowstorm, and went to Gladrags to buy me a clean set of clothes. He didn’t have to, but he did. And when he came back, he handed me the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.”

Ominis’s throat felt tight, his hands clenching at his sides as he remembered the look on your face when he’d handed you that bag. You had been startled at first, your eyes widening as you glanced between him and the neatly wrapped parcel. Then you’d smiled—a small, genuine smile that had left him momentarily speechless.

“That was the moment,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability that struck Ominis to his core. “The moment I realized he wasn’t just my friend. That he was… more. That I loved him.”

Your words hung in the air, a quiet confession wrapped in the guise of a story for the guests’ entertainment. Ominis could feel every gaze in the room turn toward him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of them. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your voice had softened, the way your smile lingered just a fraction longer than it needed to.

Were you simply using a real memory to bolster your performance? Was this a carefully chosen story to charm the crowd? Or was there a flicker of truth buried beneath the polished delivery?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Ominis. The guests continued to press you both with questions, and you answered them all with the same ease and grace. He played his part, too. Smiled when he needed to, laughed when it was expected, but his mind was elsewhere, racing with memories of that day in Hogsmeade so long ago, of the way you’d looked at him then, and the way you’d spoken of it now.

By the time the reception finally came to an end, Ominis was exhausted—not from the physical effort of the evening, but from the mental and emotional toll it had taken.

And now, as the two of you walked through the opulent halls of the hotel where you would be spending your first night as husband and wife, the weight of it all was beginning to crush him.

The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors, mingling with the faint hum of distant conversation and the soft rustle of your gown. The hotel was grand, each detail designed to impress, but Ominis barely noticed any of it. His focus was entirely on you—the way you walked beside him, close but not quite touching, your silence stretching between you like a chasm.

Finally, the two of you reached the door to your suite. Ominis hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the ornate handle as he inserted the key.

Exhaling slowly, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. The suite beyond was as opulent as the rest of the hotel—richly furnished, with soft, glowing light and an enormous bed draped in luxurious fabrics. A chilled bottle of champagne sat waiting on a nearby table, two crystal flutes beside it.

The two of you stepped inside, and Ominis’s chest tightened as he shut the door behind you, the finality of the moment settling over him like a weight. Here you were. Alone with him, no audience, no expectations—just the two of you and the silence that neither of you seemed to know how to break.

You moved toward the corner of the room where the house-elves had neatly arranged your bags, the contents folded with meticulous care.

Without a word, you pulled a set of pajamas and your toothbrush from the bag, your movements quick and purposeful. Without meeting his gaze, you turned on your heel and headed straight for the bathroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you echoed through the stillness of the suite, louder than it had any right to be, and Ominis exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

For a moment, he stood there, motionless, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Then, with a quiet sigh, he began to loosen his tie, the fabric slipping easily from his collar. He tugged it free and let it drop onto the nearest chair before running a hand through his hair. The day’s events replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape—your words, your smile, the warmth of your laughter, and the kiss at the altar that had left him reeling.

It was too much.

Ominis moved to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat heavily on the edge. He toed off his shoes, one after the other, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands came up to his face, fingers pressing lightly against his temples as he tried to push the chaos in his mind into some semblance of order.

But there was no clarity to be found. Only questions he was too afraid to ask and doubts he couldn’t shake.

The sound of water running in the bathroom was faint but constant, a reminder that you were just on the other side of the door. He wondered what you were thinking, whether the evening had left you as drained as it had left him. He wondered if you’d meant the things you’d said during the reception, if there was truth hidden in the warmth of your words, or if it had all been part of the carefully orchestrated performance.

More than anything, he wondered what would happen when you came out of that bathroom—if the silence would continue to stretch between you, or if one of you would finally be brave enough to break it.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, his movements mechanical as he made his way toward his own bag to prepare for bed. He crouched down, his fingers brushing over the neatly packed contents until he found his sleepwear.

He stood, the soft fabric of his dress shirt brushing against his skin as he worked to unbutton it. His fingers moved methodically, one button at a time, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, still behind the closed door, and the way everything about this night felt wrong.

This wasn’t how a wedding night was supposed to feel.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so strained, so heavy. There should have been laughter, warmth, the giddy sort of nervousness that came with embarking on a new chapter together. Instead, there was unrelenting tension. A chasm of unspoken words and unanswered questions that neither of you seemed ready to bridge.

Ominis shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind him as he reached for the waistband of his dress pants. He unclasped them, the fabric loosening around his waist.

And then the bathroom door opened.

The quiet click of the handle made him freeze, his hands stilling as he turned his head slightly toward the sound.

You stepped out, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Without his wand, Ominis couldn’t sense the details of your expression, couldn’t see the way your eyes might have widened or the way your lips might have parted slightly in surprise. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking, how you were reacting, and it left him feeling unmoored.

The air between you felt charged, the silence stretching out like a thread pulled taut. He was acutely aware of his state—bare-chested, his dress pants undone and hanging low on his hips. He wondered what you thought of him—what you saw when you looked at him now.

He had an idea of his appearance, of course. His wand’s mapping magic had given him a sense of his own features over the years, an understanding of the angles and planes of his face, the height and shape of his frame. He had been told, more than once, that he was conventionally attractive—sharp, aristocratic features that bore the unmistakable stamp of his bloodline.

But those compliments had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. His pale skin, high cheekbones, and long, slicked-back blonde hair—all of it tied him far too clearly to the Gaunt family, to a legacy he resented with every fiber of his being. Even his tall, lithe frame, lean from years of discipline and sparring practice, seemed more like a reminder of his upbringing than something to take pride in.

And now, standing here in this charged silence, he couldn’t help but wonder what you thought when you looked at him. Did you find him attractive? Or did you see only the Gaunt heir—a pawn in the endless, suffocating game of pure-blood politics?

He had no way of knowing. And for a moment, he almost reached for his wand, desperate for the faint hum of its magic to ground him. But he resisted, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Sorry,” you murmured softly, your voice breaking the silence. It wasn’t sharp or cold—just quiet, almost tentative.

“N-no,” Ominis said quickly, his voice low and uneven. He straightened slightly, his hands falling to his sides. “I—I should be the one apologizing.”

You didn’t respond immediately, and he could hear the faint rustle of fabric as you shifted, likely clutching your wedding dress tighter against you. “I’m finished in the bathroom, if you want to change in there,” you offered, your tone polite, carefully neutral. “Or… I can just turn around, if that’s easier.”

Ominis’s fingers twitched at his sides, his throat tightening. The absurdity of the situation struck him. You were married, bound by the vows you’d exchanged earlier that day, and yet you could barely manage to exist in the same space without this unbearable awkwardness.

“No, I’ll—I’ll use the bathroom,” he said, his voice tight. “Thank you.”

His toothbrush and pajamas in hand, Ominis disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He set his things down on the counter and leaned heavily against the sink, exhaling a shaky breath.

The mirror above the sink offered no reflection, but he didn’t need to see his face to know what he’d find there—a pale, drawn expression, tension etched into every line. He let his fingers trail over the cool porcelain of the sink before reaching to splash cold water on his face, hoping it might clear his mind, if only for a moment.

He quickly changed into his sleepwear and brushed his teeth, though the routine didn’t do much to ease the tightness in his chest.

When he finally emerged, his hair slightly damp from the water he’d splashed on his face, he reached for his wand then stopped in his tracks. The bed, massive and draped in luxurious fabrics, was untouched. Instead, you had set up a makeshift bed on the floor using a collection of spare blankets and pillows.

You were kneeling beside it, smoothing out a blanket, and when you noticed him, you straightened, brushing your hands against the fabric of your pajamas.

“I thought…” you began, your voice trailing off as though you were unsure how to explain yourself. “You should take the bed.”

Ominis blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. “You… you don’t have to do that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like guilt. “The bed is yours too.”

You shook your head, the motion subtle but certain. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll be more comfortable here.”

Ominis stiffened, watching you adjust the blankets and pillows as though you could somehow make the situation less absurd. It struck him all at once just how wrong this was. It was your wedding night—a night meant for intimacy and closeness—and yet here you were, offering to sleep on the floor.

Did you hate him that much? That the idea of sharing a bed with him, even in the most innocent sense, was so unbearable?

He couldn't keep quiet.

“I’ll take the floor,” Ominis said, his voice quiet but firm. He stepped closer, his fingers tightening around his wand. “You shouldn’t have to.”

You looked up at him, startled for a moment, before shaking your head. “Ominis, it’s fine,” you said, your tone polite but insistent. “I’ll be more comfortable here. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he replied quickly. “It’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—especially not tonight.”

“It’s not wrong if I’m choosing to,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “The bed is yours. I don’t mind.”

Ominis’s frustration began to bubble beneath the surface, his composure slipping. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine with this,” he insisted, his tone growing sharper despite his efforts to keep it even.

“I’m not pretending,” you shot back. “I said I don’t mind, and I meant it.”

“Why?” Ominis asked, his voice rising slightly. “Why are we doing this? All this… politeness and decorum?”

Your expression shifted, your jaw tightening as you glanced away. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Ominis said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The careful words, the pretending that any of this is normal. Why are we bothering? Why are we talking to each other like strangers? There’s no one here to see it. No one to keep up appearances for. It’s just us.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. “Maybe because we are strangers, Ominis. We have been for years, haven’t we?”

Ominis froze, your words striking him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You didn’t look away, your expression steady but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place—resignation, perhaps, or maybe sadness.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” you pressed, your voice quieter now but no less pointed. “After fifth year, you made it perfectly clear how you felt.”

He flinched, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. “I was trying to protect you,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “From Sebastian.”

“Don’t,” you said sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t put this on Sebastian. This isn’t about him. This is about you.”

Ominis turned his head slightly, his throat tightening as the weight of your accusation settled over him. He couldn’t argue with it—not entirely. You were right. It was his choice to push you away, though at the time he’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do.

“So no, you weren’t protecting me,” you continued sharply, your voice rising. “You were punishing me.”

He flinched as though you’d struck him, his sightless eyes widening. “Punishing you?” he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and pain. “Why would I—”

“Because you didn’t trust me,” you cut in, your voice breaking slightly. “You thought I was wrong. You thought I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t on your side. So you pushed me away and you’ve done it ever since.”

“No,” Ominis said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, taking a step closer, your anger and pain spilling out in equal measure. “Because that’s what it felt like. That’s what it’s always felt like. And now—” Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath before continuing. “And now, you’re stuck with me.” You lifted your left hand, the Gaunt family ring reflecting the lamplight. “And trust me, I know this isn’t what you want.”

Ominis froze, the weight of your words taking a moment to settle. And then, he almost laughed. The absurdity of the idea that he wouldn’t want you—you of all people—was almost too much to bear.

He’d imagined it—dreamed of it, hoped for it in the quiet, unguarded moments of his life. For years, he had spent his nights picturing you by his side, your hand in his, your voice soft and full of laughter as you spoke his name. He had clung to the idea of a future with you like a lifeline, even though, due to his own stupidity, it was impossible.

“If anyone doesn’t want this,” Ominis said finally, his voice trembling as he spoke, “it’s you.”

You blinked, your expression shifting from anger to confusion. “What?”

“You’re right,” he said, his grip tightening on his wand as he forced the words out. “You’re right about everything. About what I did, about why I pushed you away.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Even if I didn’t realize it, I did punish you.”

You stared at him, your anger softening into something more complicated, though you didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve given you every reason to hate me,” Ominis continued, his voice breaking slightly, “For what I did to you then, and for what my family has done to you now.” He gestured vaguely at the room around you, at the bands on your fingers, at everything that bound you to him against your will. “I… I know you hate me, and I accept that. I know you hate this—hate us—and I accept that too. But if you think for one second that I didn’t want this—that I didn’t want you—you’re wrong.”

You rose slowly from where you’d been kneeling, your movements deliberate, your frame tense. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, and your gaze settled on him, unreadable. Ominis didn’t move, didn’t speak. The silence between you stretched taut, heavy and unbearable, his breath shallow as he waited, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

Then, finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “So… you... don’t hate me?”

“No,” he said immediately, the word escaping before you’d even finished. “Never.”

You blinked at him, as though startled by his vehemence. For a moment, he thought that would be the end of it—that you would leave it at that. But then you took a step closer, your voice trembling slightly as you asked, “Then why did you…?”

You trailed off, but he knew exactly what you meant. Why did you push me away for years?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Ominis said, the words escaping him sharper than he intended. His voice cracked slightly as he exhaled shakily, lowering his head in a mixture of frustration and shame. “Because I let fear and pride cloud my judgment. And Merlin, it’s the biggest regret of my life.”

Ominis's throat tightened painfully, the words he’d held back for years clawing their way up to the surface. They pressed against his chest, demanding release, and for once, he didn’t push them down. What was the point? You were already married, bound by vows neither of you could escape—trapped in this twisted arrangement orchestrated by his family. There was no undoing it, no going back.

“Because... because I’ve always loved you,” he stammered, his voice faltering but steady enough to carry the truth. He lifted his head slightly, his sightless eyes turned toward you as though he could see the effect of his words. “Always.”

The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. The room felt suffocatingly still, every sound amplified in the oppressive quiet. He could hear the faint rush of blood in his ears, a relentless pounding that seemed to echo his racing thoughts. Even the soft cadence of his own uneven breathing felt deafening, filling the space as though to taunt him with the vulnerability he couldn’t take back.

“I…” you began, your voice unsteady, but you trailed off again, clearly struggling to find the words. “You… loved me?”

“Love,” he corrected softly. “Present tense.”

Your breath hitched, and he could hear the faint tremor in it. “Why... why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He hesitated, his hands tightening at his sides. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid you didn’t feel the same. Afraid of what it would mean if you did. I didn’t want you getting tied up with my family—with the Gaunts. I didn’t want you dragged into… into this.”

He gestured vaguely around the room, his frustration with himself evident in the sharpness of his movements. “Not that it ended up mattering,” he added bitterly.

You were silent again, and Ominis felt the weight of your hesitation like a physical thing pressing down on his chest. He’d said too much. He’d gone too far. And now—

“I wouldn’t have cared,” you said softly.

"...Pardon?”

“I wouldn’t have cared about your family,” you said again, your voice a little steadier now. “I never cared about any of that.”

Ominis's heart twisted painfully at your words, the faint flicker of hope they ignited almost too much to bear. “You…” He stopped, his voice faltering as he tried to process what you’d said. "You didn't?"

“No. In fact, I don’t care,” you continued, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “Present tense.”

Ominis felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted, his entire world tilting on its axis as his mind scattered, his carefully constructed thoughts unraveling at the edges. Present tense.

The implications swirled in his mind, overwhelming and impossible to fully grasp. If you didn’t care—if you truly didn’t care—then what did that mean? What did it say about the way you felt about him now?

“You mean…” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to form the question that had lodged itself in his throat. “You mean you still…”

You looked away, a faint blush coloring your cheeks as you clasped your hands in front of you. “What I mean,” you began quietly, your voice barely audible. “Is that I... I love you too.”

Ominis thought he might collapse under the weight of your words. His head swam, his legs trembling as if they could no longer hold him upright. It was too much—too good to be true.

Surely, he’d imagined it.

This had to be some cruel trick of his mind, conjured from the depths of years of longing and guilt. Perhaps he was dreaming, caught in that fragile space between sleep and waking where impossible things felt real. Any moment now, he’d wake in his cold, oppressive bed at the Gaunt manor, the warmth of your voice nothing more than a fleeting echo in the dark.

But the longer he stood there, frozen and breathless, the clearer it became that this was no dream. You were still there, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence, the soft sound of your breathing in the silence.

“You…” His voice cracked, his grip on his wand tightening as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

Ominis shook his head slightly, as though trying to shake loose the fog clouding his mind. “You… are you sure?”

“Yes, Ominis,” you said again, this time with a small, amused smile. The warmth in your voice should have soothed him, but instead, it sent his heart racing even faster.

“You’re serious. You… you lo—”

The words caught in his throat as you stepped closer, your movements soft but deliberate. The sudden proximity sent a shockwave through him, and what he was about to say dissolved on his tongue. The world narrowed until there was only you—the warmth of your presence, the faint rustle of fabric as you drew near, the soft sound of your breath mingling with his.

And then you kissed him.

The contact was gentle at first, tentative, as though testing the boundaries of a moment that neither of you could take back. But the moment his mind registered what was happening, something inside him snapped. Ominis dropped his wand, the dull thud barely registering in the haze of sensation that overtook him. His hands found your waist instinctively, trembling as they settled against you, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go.

It was everything—more than he had ever dared to imagine. The taste of you, the softness of your lips against his, the faint sigh you let out as you pressed closer. You were all he could feel, all he could think about, and the overwhelming reality of it, of you, left him breathless.

When you finally pulled away, his chest heaved, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to find his breath.

“That story…” he murmured, his voice low and uneven. “The one you told at the reception. About Hogsmeade. Was it… was it true?”

You pulled back slightly, just enough for him to sense the shift in your posture. He couldn’t see your expression, but he could feel the heat rising from you, could hear the faint hitch in your breath.

“Yes,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “It was true.”

Ominis felt his knees nearly give out at the confirmation, his grip on your waist tightening reflexively. “Merlin,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “All this time…”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as the weight of everything settled over him. The years he’d spent aching for you, the nights he’d lain awake tormenting himself with what-ifs—it all seemed so absurd now.

“You really…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe it. “You realized then?”

“At Hogsmeade?” you asked softly, your voice still tinged with shyness. You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes... I did."

Ominis let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his breath hitching as he shook his head slightly. “Because of some clothes?” he asked, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Because I gave you my coat and bought you something dry to wear?”

"Sounds a lot less romantic when you say it like that," you mumbled, a hint of embarrassment coloring your voice. You glanced away, fidgeting slightly as though unsure how to explain yourself. “It wasn't just the clothes. I’d been falling you for some time, but I hadn’t really let myself acknowledge it. And then that day, it all just… clicked.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Clicked,” he repeated.

You swallowed hard as you cast your gaze downward. “You’ve always been… well, you, Ominis,” you began softly, your voice carrying a hesitant edge, as though you weren’t sure how much to say. “You, with your calm, your steadiness. Even when you’re angry, it’s controlled, measured, refined. It’s like you always know exactly what to do, like you were born knowing how to handle everything.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond to the quiet admiration in your voice. He’d spent so much of his life rejecting the parts of himself tied to his family’s legacy—the refinement, the composure, the quiet dignity that others associated with the Gaunt name. To hear you speak of it now, as though it were a part of him you valued, left him unsteady.

“And me?” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve... I've never been like that. I’m messy. Emotional. I act too quickly and think too slowly. I’m… I don’t know. Chaotic, I guess.” You laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just a quiet vulnerability that made Ominis’s chest ache.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his brow furrowing. “You’re—”

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always been my perfect opposite,” you continued gently, your voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “My foil. You’re steady, and quiet, and level, and I’ve always felt like… like you even me out.”

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully at your words, the depth of your confession leaving him breathless. “You don’t need evening out,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re brilliant just as you are.”

You gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “Well... that doesn’t change how I’ve always felt around you. Like you make me better. Like I can stand still and actually think when you're near.”

He was too overwhelmed to trust his voice, too unsure of how to put everything he felt into words. So instead, Ominis reached for you, his hand settling gently at the nape of your neck. And he held you there, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, his lips pressing a tentative kiss to your forehead.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his voice quiet and raw as he asked, “Well, I’m here now. So… what are you thinking?”

You hesitated for a moment, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I’m thinking…” You glanced toward the untouched bed before meeting his gaze again. “Maybe we can share the bed after all.”

"Is that so?" He murmured.

You nodded, your smile widening slightly. “Well, it’s a big bed. Plenty of room. And besides…” You reached for his left hand, spinning the wedding band around his finger. “You are my husband, after all.”

The words were light, teasing, but they sent a rush of warmth through Ominis that left him almost dizzy. He’d spent the entire day dreading what being your husband would mean, burdened by the weight of your resentment and his own guilt. But now, standing here with you, knowing you loved him, hearing you call him that—husband—filled him with an overwhelming, almost unbearable mixture of relief, joy, and hope.

Wordlessly, Ominis gently guided you toward the bed, his hand ghosted along your back. When you reached the edge of the mattress, he paused, his fingers brushing yours as he coaxed you to sit.

“Wait here,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and steady, though his chest was still tight with the weight of everything that had just happened.

Retrieving his wand from the floor, Ominis turned toward the small table where the champagne sat waiting, the chilled bottle glinting faintly in the soft lamplight. He reached for it with steady hands, though his heart was anything but calm. He needed the drink—something to take the edge off, to dull the sharp, almost unbearable clarity of this moment—the knowledge that you loved him, that he was about to share a bed with you not as strangers bound by duty, but as something far more significant.

Pouring the champagne into two crystal flutes, he turned back to you, carrying both glasses with a surprising steadiness for someone whose mind was in complete turmoil. Handing you one, he sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, closer than he’d dared to in years.

“To... new beginnings?” he offered softly, his voice carrying a tentative edge as he raised his glass slightly.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze meeting his, before a small smile curved your lips. “To new beginnings,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against his.

The crystal chime of the glasses meeting seemed to echo in the quiet room, a sound that felt impossibly delicate in the stillness between you. Ominis brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip as his mind raced, the taste of the champagne crisp and cool against the tension still thrumming in his chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before speaking. “You looked…” His voice caught in his throat, hoarse and unsteady, and he cleared it softly before trying again. “You looked beautiful today.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he could sense the faint blush that rose to your cheeks. “Ominis…” you began, but he shook his head, stopping you.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. “You were… you are, the most stunning thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I mean, um. Not that I can…” He trailed off, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “But I didn’t need to see you the way others do. I could feel it."

Your cheeks flushed faintly, and you glanced down at your own glass, swirling the champagne slightly as if to distract yourself. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft but genuine.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You have always been beautiful. And today, seeing you in that dress… it felt like I was dreaming. I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

A deep flush spread across your cheeks, the warmth creeping down your neck as his words lingered in the air. You didn’t respond right away, instead lifting your glass in a swift motion and draining the champagne in one determined gulp. Ominis raised a brow at your boldness, his expression hovering between amusement and surprise. Before he could say anything, you leaned forward, stretching across his lap to place your empty glass on the bedside table.

The unexpected contact sent a jolt through him. His entire body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as your warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at him as you sat back.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he stammered, a rush of warmth crawling up his neck and settling in his cheeks. He gripped his champagne flute more tightly than necessary, the coolness of the glass a poor counterbalance to the fire you’d ignited in his veins.

“You seem… tense,” you remarked, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“Tense?” he repeated, forcing his voice to remain steady even as his grip on the flute tightened. “I’m not tense.”

“You’re holding that glass like it’s about to leap out of your hand,” you pointed out with a soft laugh, leaning in just slightly, your shoulder brushing his. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly on the word.

You hummed softly in response, your amusement now evident. “If you say so."

Ominis turned his sightless gaze in your direction, his throat tightening as he tried to summon a reply that wouldn’t betray the chaos now swirling inside him. But you spoke again before he could, your tone as casual as if you were discussing the weather.

“By the way,” you said with deliberate slowness, “did I ever tell you that you clean up very well?”

He froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. “I… I’m sorry?”

“You,” you said simply, your gaze flicking over him again in a way that made his skin prickle with awareness. “In your suit earlier. You looked very handsome.”

Ominis’s face burned. He gripped his glass tightly, taking another long sip to buy himself a moment to think. “Th-thank you,” he managed.

“You’re welcome,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips. You leaned back onto your hands, the bed giving under your weight. "You really are very attractive, Ominis," you added softly, the undercurrent of sincerity that making his heart ache.

You’d never complimented him like that before, never indicated whether you found him attractive or not, and the revelation was dizzying.

“Why are you—why are you saying this?” he asked, his throat tight.

“Because it’s true,” you said simply. “And because I can.”

Ominis exhaled shakily. “You’re... you're very bold."

“And you are shy,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you tilted your head toward him. “I told you it’s a good thing we balance each other out.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be flustered or comforted by the ease in your voice. The warmth radiating from you, the teasing lilt in your tone, and the sincerity beneath it all—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

“You’re relentless,” he muttered.

"Because you make it so easy." You explained smoothly.

Ominis cleared his throat, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about."

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Oh, I think you do."

Before he could respond, you leaned forward again, reaching past him toward the small table beside the bed. But this time, your free hand rested on his thigh for balance, the contact sending heat through his veins and a gasp threatening to pass his lips.

“Let’s see…” you murmured thoughtfully, your fingers brushing against a book as you pulled it toward you. “Huh. A bible. Why do hotels always have these?”

Ominis barely heard your question, his attention consumed by the weight of your hand on his leg, the warmth of your palm seeping through the thin fabric of his pants. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he tried—and failed—to focus on anything other than the proximity of your body to his.

“I suppose it’s tradition,” he managed weakly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you mused, flipping the book closed with an air of exaggerated disappointment. “Though you’d think they’d leave something more interesting. A mystery novel, maybe.”

You shifted slightly to flip open the pages of the book, humming thoughtfully, but your elbow caught Ominis’s arm, sending champagne spilling directly into his lap, the cool liquid soaking through the fabric and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, sitting up quickly, your hand flying to your mouth. “I’m so sorry. Let me—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice strained as he tried to wave you off. “Really, I can—”

But you were already on your feet, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. Before he could protest further, you were kneeling in front of him on the floor.

“Let me help,” you insisted, your tone sweet but tinged with a something else that Ominis couldn’t quite place.

He stiffened further, his entire body locking up as your hand brushed dangerously close to the center of his lap.

“I-it’s fine, truly,” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in pitch. “You don’t need to—”

“Nonsense," you said lightly, shaking your head as you continued to blot the fabric. “It’s my fault.”

Ominis held in a groan, fighting to maintain even a shred of composure. Heat had already been pooling in his abdomen, a slow, insistent burn that now threatened to spiral out of control, but with your hands so dangerously close, with you kneeling before him, he felt as though his very sanity was slipping through his fingers.

His mind raced with a flood of thoughts—improper, indecent thoughts that he told himself he was far too much of a gentleman to entertain. And yet, he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to give in, to let go of the rigid self-control that had defined so much of his life.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Y-you really don’t need to,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted, trying in vain to create some distance between you. “I can handle it.”

“No, no," you murmured, your dabbing movements now turning into wiping motions. "Let me help.”

Help. The irony of the word wasn’t lost on him. If anything, your proximity, your touch, was undoing him entirely. And what was worse—what truly horrified him—was the knowledge that the evidence of his attraction would soon become blatantly, inescapably obvious.

His breath hitched as your hand brushed closer—too close—and he couldn't handle another moment.

Ominis shot to his feet so suddenly that it startled you, his wand clutched tightly in his trembling hand. The movement sent the towel slipping from your fingers as you instinctively leaned back, your wide eyes snapping up to meet his.

The image that his wand painted in his mind was delicious and utterly disastrous: you, on your knees before him, your hair slightly mussed, your lips slightly parted, and those impossibly wide eyes staring up at him.

He clenched his jaw, quickly lowering his wand, but no matter how hard he tried, the image wouldn’t leave him. It was burned into his mind, vivid and unrelenting.

Ominis opened his mouth, but his words came out as a jumble of incoherent stammers. “I—I’m sure the house elves packed… something—uh—extra pants.” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured vaguely toward the corner of the room where their bags were stacked. “I should—probably just—”

He moved to take a step, desperate to escape, but then your hands were on his thighs, stopping him mid-motion.

"Running off on me, are you?"

"I—I just thought—"

You tutted and gave him a gentle push, coaxing Ominis to sit back down on the edge of the bed. He resisted for a moment, but your persistence, combined with his legs trembling beneath him, left him with little choice. Slowly, he sank back down, his hands gripping at the sheets.

“There,” you said softly, your tone soothing yet carrying a playful undercurrent that made his pulse quicken. “That’s better.”

Better? Hardly. Ominis was certain he’d never been in a worse predicament in his life. You were now kneeling right between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs, the heat of your palms searing through the thin fabric of his sleepwear.

He was painfully, achingly hard now, pressed uncomfortably against the fabric, and he knew—he knew—you must have noticed.

How could you not? You were so close, on your knees before him, your face dangerously near to the source of his torment. He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists as he tried to will his body into submission, but it was no use. The evidence of his desire was blatant, inescapable.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t unbearable enough, you tilted your head slightly, feigning an expression of concern.

“You can’t be very comfortable like that,” you said softly, your voice laced with innocence. “Your pants, I mean. All damp and cold.” The corners of your mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “Maybe you should just take them off.”

Ominis stiffened. He knew exactly what you were doing—knew you weren’t nearly as innocent as you were pretending to be. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to call you out. Couldn’t bring himself to break the fragile thread of tension strung taut between you. Because some part of him—some reckless, desperate part of him—wanted to see how far you were willing to push him.

“I—I think I’ll just wait until—”

You leaned in slightly, your expression soft and oh-so-kind. “Until what?”

Ominis exhaled shakily, his hands tightening into fists. “Until I’m alone.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Alone?” you repeated, tilting your head as though the concept genuinely puzzled you. “Why? It's just me... and I'm your wife now, aren't I?"

His wife.

He swallowed hard. “You… you are,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t mean what?” you interrupted, trailing your hands further up his thighs. “That you can’t be comfortable around me? That you can’t let me take care of you?”

“Take care of me,” he repeated hoarsely, the word catching in his throat as his mind spiraled. He knew exactly what you were insinuating, and it was driving him to the brink of madness.

“Isn’t that what a good wife does?” you asked softly, your voice lilting as though you were enjoying this far too much.

Ominis swallowed hard, muttering your name. “…This is a dangerous game you're playing."

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your gaze never leaving his. “Is it?”

He forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing.

Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider, teasing and entirely too confident for his fragile composure. “And what happens,” you asked, “if I keep playing?”

Your hands trailed upwards and his entire body went rigid, his fists tightening so hard that his knuckles ached.

And then you did it.

Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his pants, your touch light as you began to tug. And Ominis's composure shattered, the remainder of his control finally giving way.

He reached out, his hands catching your wrists and stilling your movements as he leaned down, his sightless gaze locked on you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, your playful smile faltering for the first time, though your eyes still held a glint of challenge. “Ominis—”

“Enough,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time. “You wanted to play a game, did you? Let me show you what it feels like to lose."

Ominis stood slowly, bringing your hands with him, guiding them back to the waistband of his pants. His breath was heavy, his voice low and rough when he spoke. “You started this,” he murmured, his tone carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Now finish it.”

Your eyes widened, your earlier confidence faltering as you stared up at him. “Ominis, I—” you began, but he cut you off, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrists.

“You wanted to see how far you could push me?” he muttered. “Congratulations. You found out. Now take them off."

You hesitated, your playful bravado faltering. This wasn’t the careful, reserved Ominis you were used to. This was someone raw, unguarded, and utterly unyielding.

But you had pushed him to this point, hadn’t you? Teased and taunted, knowing full well what you were doing. And now, you would face the consequences.

Your fingers trembled as they hooked under the waistband of his pants, tugging at the fabric. The damp material clung stubbornly to his skin, and the tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on, but Ominis revelled in it, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

After a moment, the damp fabric finally gave way, sliding down his hips and pooling at his ankles, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “No teasing comments, hm? Not so bold now, are you?"

“I…” You hesitated, your breath hitching. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he interrupted smoothly, his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Tease me? Push me? Make me want you until I could barely think straight?”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in shock at his bluntness. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he took in your reaction.

“Because if that’s the case,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “then you failed. Now... where were you?"

He reached for your hands again, skimming them along his legs before hooking them into the fabric of his underwear. Your lips parted, a soft, unsteady exhale escaping as you gazed up at him.

“Go on,” he urged, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky breath, you complied with his demand, the fabric yielding beneath your touch as you began to tug it down past his hips and over the hard length of him.

Ominis’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. His one hand found your shoulder, the other tangling in your hair as you freed him from the confines of his underwear, the cool air of the room brushing against his heated skin.

He could feel your gaze moving over him, taking in every inch of his body. He didn't need to see her to know exactly what you were looking at. He could feel her hesitation, the quickening pace of your breathing, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"Like what you see?" His voice was low and rough. It wasn't a question so much as a challenge, a dare for her to speak the truth he already knew.

There was a pause, a moment where he could feel her nerves battling with her desire. Then her voice came, soft and trembling, yet unmistakably honest. "Yes. I… Ominis, you're... fuck, you're so big.”

Her words hit him like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire he could barely contain. A slow, wicked smile curled his lips as his confidence swelled at the admission. He let his thumb trace the curve of your jaw, the movement gentle even as his grip on your neck tightened slightly, coaxing you closer.

Your hands trembled against his thighs, and he felt you hesitate again. That flicker of uncertainty was intoxicating, drawing out the predator in him that wanted to take his time unraveling you.

"I don't even know if I can..." you whispered,

"Oh, you can," he said, his voice a mix of promise and challenge. "And you will. Open your mouth."

Your lips parted without hesitation, your trust in him making something primal surge within his chest. Ominis let out a low, satisfied chuckle as he guided you toward him with deliberate care. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

He could feel your breath ghosting over him, the slight tremor in your shoulders betraying her nervousness. But when your lips finally made contact, wrapping around him with warmth and softness, a sharp groan tore from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth was intoxicating, your tongue brushing against the sensitive underside of him sending jolts of pleasure rippling through his core.

He groaned, his voice low and gravelly, unrestrained. "God, you feel so good... yes, just like that."

His grip in your hair tightened, controlling your movements as he adjusted the angle with a firm but gentle tug. Each movement was controlled, his hips rocking forward slightly before pulling back just enough to keep you comfortable.

A low moan escaped him as your tongue flicked against the head of his cock, every slight drag of your lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through him like fire. His head tipped back briefly, a ragged exhale slipping from his lips.

"Relax your throat," he ordered breathlessly, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. "Let me in. Let me feel you take all of me."

You responded instantly, a muffled moan escaping as you took him deeper, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through Ominis that left him teetering on the edge. His control slipped, and his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving himself further into the warmth of your mouth. The way your throat tightened around him, the way you surrendered so completely to his lead—it was undoing him, igniting a raw, primal need he couldn't restrain.

"I’m close," he breathed, his thumb brushing against your chin. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

Your kept pace, and every sensation sharpened, from the slick slide of your lips to the pressure of your tongue and the slight resistance of your throat.

Ominis's body shuddered violently when the tension coiled tight within him finally snapped, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his hips pressed forward, forcing you to take his release. He groaned your name, his voice raw and broken, the sound laced with unrestrained pleasure as waves of his release surged through him. He felt you swallow, the rhythmic pull of your throat around him drawing out every last bit of his pleasure and leaving him utterly wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven as he brushed his thumb gently against your chin, a subtle caress full of approval. “So perfect.”

His breaths came in uneven gasps as the intensity began to ebb, though the memory of your mouth on him lingered, searing itself into his mind. The slick warmth of you, your complete submission to him, was something he knew he'd spend his life chasing.

Finally, his grip loosened in your hair, and with a soft, wet pop, he pulled himself from your mouth, the absence of your warmth almost jarring. His legs trembled as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still buzzing. Yet, even in his post-climactic haze, his hands remained steady, tracing the curve of your jaw with a reverence that felt entirely at odds with the raw dominance he'd displayed moments before.

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly, tilting your chin up to brush his thumb over your swollen lips.

Your breath was shallow, quick, and he could feel the faint tremor in your body under his hands. When you didn’t immediately answer, his brow furrowed. He withdrew his hand and reached for his wand.

The image of you that materialized made his breath catch—your breathing ragged, your cheeks flushed a deep, fiery red, your lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath, your eyes glassy.

He breathed your name, his voice tinged with worry as he cupped your face again. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” His fingers brushed your hair back, searching for any sign of discomfort, his unseeing eyes filled with an almost frantic need for reassurance.

You blinked slowly, as if coming out of a haze, and the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips. Your breath hitched, and when you finally spoke, your voice was rough and shaky. “No,” you managed,“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “Are you sure you’re alright? Please tell me the truth.”

You nodded, your unsteady, watery smile sending a wave of relief coursing through Ominis, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. But that smile—soft, trembling, and paired with the glassiness in your eyes—made his heart falter for an entirely different reason. He had pushed you close to your limit; that much was undeniable. The sheen in your gaze spoke of intensity, perhaps even moments of overwhelming vulnerability. And yet, the faint curve of your lips said it all—you’d liked it.

You had trusted him so completely, surrendered so fully, giving yourself over to him for his pleasure, even when it stretched the boundaries of your comfort.

It was a realization that hit him hard, an almost overwhelming surge of emotion he wasn’t prepared for.

But Ominis couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it now. There was something far more important to focus on—taking care of you.

Ominis inhaled deeply, centering himself as he rose from the edge of the bed. He pulled back the covers with a smooth motion and turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached for you. “Come here,” he said gently.

Reaching down, his arms slid around you, steady and secure, as he helped you up from where you knelt on the floor. One hand pressed lightly against the small of your back, the other brushing against your arm as he guided you onto the bed.

Once you were settled, he tucked the covers around you, his hands lingering for a moment, brushing along your arm before moving to your face.

“There we are,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re alright,” he assured, though it felt as much for him as it was for you. “I’ve got you.”

Your voice, hoarse and barely above a whisper, cut through the quiet. “Ominis, you can stop fussing. I’m alright.”

He froze for a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile as a soft chuckle escaped him. “You’re alright, are you?” he asked, his tone a blend of teasing and disbelief. “You can barely speak. Forgive me if I’m not entirely convinced.”

You rolled your eyes weakly, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips. “I mean it,” you said, your voice still raspy. “I’m okay."

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed as he adjusted the covers once more, making sure they were snug around you. “You need water," he decided, his brow furrowing slightly.

Before you could protest, he was already moving, locating a glass and filling it at the bathroom sink. He returned swiftly, slipping one hand beneath the back of your neck to help you sit up just enough. The other hand brought the glass to your lips.

“Drink,” he murmured softly.

You sipped obediently and he smiled softly, chest rising and falling with a quiet steadiness now that he knew you were truly alright.

"You were so good," he murmured, as his fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. "Do you have any idea how amazing you felt?"

He leaned closer, his lips finding the flushed heat of your cheek, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, each one accompanied by a murmured word of praise. “So perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and reverent. "So well behaved."

His lips trailed to your other cheek, brushing against the soft skin as he continued. “It was overwhelming in the best way possible. The way you felt, the way you took me—it was more than I could have ever imagined.”

You hummed softly, the sound a mixture of contentment and satisfaction as his lips trailed across your flushed skin. A shaky hand lifted from beneath the covers, reaching out to find his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you guided his lips to yours.

The kiss was a whisper, soft and delicate, barely more than a brush of your lips against his. Ominis exhaled against your mouth, his breath warm and steady, a low hum of contentment escaping him as he leaned into you. His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, cradling you as his lips moved against yours.

Your lips barely parted from his as you whispered against them, your voice still raspy but filled with quiet conviction, “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Ominis stilled, as though trying to convince himself they were real. Then, his breath hitched, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you, too,” he murmured in return, his voice trembling with emotion. “Merlin, I love you so much. I always have.” He paused, his unseeing eyes searching for something he couldn’t quite articulate. “After everything, after all this time… I never dared to hope we’d find each other again like this.”

You smiled faintly, your thumb stroking his cheek as you closed the small distance between you for another kiss, your lips speaking what words couldn’t.

Ominis pulled back slowly, his fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he adjusted the covers around you. He slipped into bed beside you, his movements careful, his body naturally finding yours as his arms slid around you, drawing you close. Your head nestled against his chest, your breath warm against his neck, and he felt your heartbeat, steady and sure, beneath his hand.

As he held you, Ominis let his mind wander, reflecting on everything that had brought you both to this moment. The pain, the distance, the longing—it had all been worth it for this, for you. A soft, contented sigh escaped him as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

As he closed his eyes, his grip on you tightening slightly in an unconscious promise to never let you go again, a single thought echoed in his mind: This is where I’m meant to be. With you. Always.

His grin morphed into something far more akin to a smirk than anything else, and you briefly searched the depths of your mind once more for any recollection of that mouth relocation spell, though you came up with nothing after a few moments of contemplation.

You sighed. There were much more pressing matters to attend to anyhow, it seemed.

"Quite."

Sebastian all but purred in response to your previous remark, shooting a less than subtle wink your way before gallivanting off in the direction of a bickering Leander and Garreth, no doubt hoping to stoke the flames of their already less than friendly conversation.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed open the door to the compartment that you and your friends had sat in for every trip made to Hogwarts thus far.

It was an unspoken rule, after all, that this particular car was favored by the ever particular and oddly intimidating Ominis Gaunt.

And, as things went, Ominis tended to be granted that which he was selective enough to vocalize aloud, whether he ever truly recognized it or not.

"Omini-"

"You're late."

You flinched softly at the obvious displeasure in the young man's voice, not for fear of his doubtless nonexistent retribution, but out of discomfort at the mere thought of being the cause of such a tone.

You wondered if Sebastian ever had the sense to care about such a thing, but found you would rather not know after a moment or two of deliberation on the subject.

You did not need yet another reminder of the ways in which your friendship with the youngest Gaunt heir differed from the one he shared with the sole remaining male Sallow.

Sighing, you nodded, knowing full well after so many years together that the blond sitting before you would sense the gesture regardless of his lack of sight.

He had a way of knowing such things, after all, particularly when they pertained to you and your movements.

He always seemed to know exactly where you were, as if attuned to your every breath.

"I know, I apologi-"

"I had to call in two favors to keep this train from moving without you, you know."

Ominis bit out before you could finish, immediately all but stunning you into silence.

Cutting you off twice in one conversation? Perhaps you'd upset him more than you'd initially realized.

"I mean honestly, late for the train in your seventh year? Was I foolish to believe you might have learned better by now?"

He all but scoffed, continuing with his tangent whilst crossing his arms and fixing his face with a scowl so cold it very nearly had you shivering.

"Probably not,"

You began a few moments later, allowing the sliding door to rest against your shoulder as you stood in the opening, your carry bag of necessities slung haplessly over your shoulder.

"But you know timing was never my strong suit."

Ominis rolled his eyes, immediately causing a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips in spite of your best efforts to keep it at bay.

"Far from it, as you've so kindly shown."

He muttered beneath his breath before turning his head toward you wordlessly, expression a rather amusing mixture of exasperation, confusion, and dwindling frustration as he opened his mouth to speak up once more after a few seconds of silence.

"And just what in Salazar's name do you think you're achieving by standing in that doorway, hm? Have somewhere else to be that you've conveniently neglected to mention?"

In response to your friend's accusation, you found yourself having to bite back a bout of laughter.

He would never admit it aloud, but Ominis was immensely fond of your quiet train rides back to school with one another, regardless of where he was returning from, and clearly he was concerned that you'd made other plans for your afternoon journey back to Hogwarts.

And of course, you would never admit it aloud, but doing such a thing was so inconceivable to you that it nearly made you burst out laughing, as evidenced by your present struggles.

After all, why would you ever want to spend time with someone else when you had Ominis Gaunt so impatiently waiting for you in the train compartment furthest from the rest in the second car down?

The answer, of course, was that you wouldn't.

"Certainly not."

You replied casually, amusement coloring your tone as the blond sitting before you scoffed once more, his cheeks glowing with a pink so faint that you could scarcely make it out, even in the brightness of the afternoon sun that beamed through the windows from high above the valley you were passing through in that moment.

"Well then what in the hells are you waiting for, a written invitation? Sit down already, you're letting far too much racket in standing there with the door open."

He huffed, averting his unseeing gaze away from you and toward the wall that sat opposite him as you shook your head with a grin and did as you were told with an eagerness you were glad that Ominis couldn't make out.

Making yourself comfortable within your place beside him, you couldn't help but take in the sight of his familiar profile, illuminated ever so slightly by the light filtering in through the glass.

It was always like this on these long rides back, you quietly admiring your friend as he sat, none the wiser, in the spot beside that which he always saved for you.

And, as an easy silence filled the room for the first time since your delayed arrival, you watched as the blond finally relaxed a bit in his seat, massaging his temples in slow circles until you finally leaned forward slightly to place a gentle hand just above his knee, the fabric of his perfectly tailored and painstakingly pleated trousers somewhat rough against your soft palm, though you found that the warmth radiating off of the man wearing them more than made up for that fact.

"I really am sorry for being late, you know."

You assured quietly, watching as the boy sitting beside you sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly, his cheeks now pink enough that you could make the color of them out with ease.

You tried not to think too hard about how happy the sight of that color upon his flushed skin made you, nor of just how much the fact that you had caused such a reaction was driving said happiness.

"I know."

Ominis replied gently, his hand finding yours, warm flesh upon warm flesh, the feel of his palm much softer than the fabric that was presently pressed against your own.

"I was simply worried that something had happened to you. It isn't typical to miss the train entirely, even for someone as truant as yourself."

His voice had a teasing lilt to it now, but you could still hear the strain hidden just beneath it as he spoke, poorly concealed even as you squeezed just above his knee encouragingly, reminding him of where you sat, perfectly safe at his side.

He seemed to deflate slightly at the gesture.

"Well, no need to concern yourself with my whereabouts anymore, Gaunt. I'm here, aren't I?"

Ominis chuckled under his breath, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated exasperation that you could tell he wanted to convey far more than he actually felt.

"Yes, I suppose you are."

And with that, you smiled, leaning your head familiarly upon the shoulder of the young man sitting just to the right of you before closing your eyes fondly when you felt the weight of his own atop it.

The two of you stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, head against head, until eventually, the train began to slow, and the door burst open to reveal Sebastian, who grinned rather obnoxiously as he took in the sight before him.

"Well well well, not waiting anymore now are we, Ominis?"

“Why… what is this?” Ominis questions, tracing over the worn cover of a leather tome. He runs his other hand along the spine. The bindings of the book are exposed and he can feel the bumps of worn cords holding the loose pages together. Even the leather is peeling on the corners and edges. Whatever the title of the tome was, it’s long since faded as his wand can’t find a legible letter to decipher.

“Some light reading I need help with.” Sebastian states while he takes a seat next to Ominis.

Ominis sighs, “I don’t have time for this, Sebastian. I must finish this report for Profess-,”

“That can wait. This is far more pressing.” Sebastian shoves away all of Ominis’ writing utensils. 

“Sebastian!”

“Ominis, you were the one saying I needed to find other ways to cure Anne. Well, this could be it. Now, are you going to help me, or sit there and complain?” 

Ominis lets out a deep breath while he flips the book open, “Fine. But only for a little bit. Then I must finish my report.” Ominis stresses with a glare aimed towards Sebastian. 

“Thank you, my friend. I won’t soon forget this.” 

Ominis skims through the pages. Seems Sebastian procured an archaic textbook dated back to the first few years of Hogwarts - detailing the more illicit potions you could make. Elixirs ranging from the mundane boil remover to the far more deadly Eternal Sleep Draughts. Ominis doesn’t find much in the book to help Anne, not even a remedy to help with the pain. He flips to another page when he pauses. 

It enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person, as long as they have first procured part of that individual’s body to add to the brew. The effects of the potion are only temporary, and, depending on how well it has been brewed, may last anywhere from ten minutes to twelve hours. You are able to change age, sex, and race by taking the Polyjuice Potion, but not species.

The more he reads, the more his thoughts stray from searching for a cure for Anne. To take on the physical appearance of someone else and to change… 

“Find something?” Sebastian questions, glancing over Ominis’ still wand digging into the page.

“No.” Ominis states and tries to turn to another section of the book, but Sebastian snatches the tome from Ominis’ grasp. He examines what has caught Ominis’ attention and Sebastian’s brows furrow at what he finds.

“Polyjuice Potion?” Sebastian looks over to Ominis. 

“I’m sorry. I got distracted. Can we please move on and go back to the task at hand?” Ominis reaches for the book, but Sebastian keeps it just out of his reach and chuckles.

“Why’re you so interested in a Polyjuice Potion, Ominis?” 

Ominis huffs with a shake of his head, “I’m not.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “You most definitely are.” 

Ominis crosses his arms with a snarl, “And if I am? What of it?”

Sebastian reads over the passage again, a smile forming on his lips, “I can see why you would be. If I’m thinking the same thing you are.” 

“It’s silly. I shouldn’t even entertain the thought.” Ominis dismisses. 

“Why not? Wouldn’t you want to spend the day being able to see?” 

Ominis frowns, “But, it wouldn’t be through my own eyes. It would have to be through someone else's. And I doubt anybody would be willing to give me a lock of hair for such a thing.” 

Sebastian puts his hand on Ominis’ shoulder with a slight grin, “It’s a good thing I am that somebody.” 

“What?”

“You heard me. I think we should make this potion and once it’s done, you can use my hair. It’ll be perfect!” Sebastian shakes Ominis in his excitement.

“Brewing a Polyjuice Potion takes time. And, far more importantly, skill. A skill I doubt either of us possesses.” 

Sebastian leans back in his chair with a hum, “That could pose a problem. Unless, we found someone to make us the potion.” 

Ominis cranes his head, “Who would be willing to-,” the words die in his mouth. His lips thin as he nods, “I know of someone. I’ll have to reach out to them though.” 

Sebastian claps his hands together with a grin, “Excellent. This may be one of your better ideas, Ominis.” 

Ominis snatches the book from Sebastain and goes back to researching, “We shall see, won’t we?”

===========================

Two weeks pass before Ominis receives word back from his contact. The letter is brief and Ominis is filled with excited trepidation as he heads to the Hog’s Head for the meeting. Ominis is relieved the transaction is quick, with few words exchanged. Ominis keeps the potion close to his chest as he heads to the Undercroft to stash it away until the right moment. 

Three days later, Sebastian finds Ominis pacing in the Undercroft. 

“Sorry I’m late.” Sebastian greets. “Ready for this?”

Ominis shakes his head, “I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” 

“What’s the problem? You seemed sure yesterday.” 

Ominis stops, letting out a sigh, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? If you’re have any doubts, I-,” 

“I want to do this, Ominis.” Sebastian interjects. “Now, where is that potion before you change your mind.” 

Ominis reaches into his pocket and hands the potion over to Sebastian. Sebastain holds the palm-sized phial up to the fire’s light. He plucks out a few strands of his hair then he places them into the potion. A faint sizzling sound can be heard as Sebastian swirls the muddy liquid. Sebastian hands the potion back to Ominis.

“Drink up.” Sebastian grins. 

Ominis holds the potion in his hand - willing away his nerves. He raises the potion up with a slight smile, “Cheers.” 

He downs the thick liquid, refusing to allow himself to gag at the taste and consistency. 

Immediately, his insides start writhing and twisting. He doubles over, wondering if he’s going to throw up the concoction. A burning sensation spreads rapidly from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes. It’s enough to bring him gasping to all fours, whimpering and moaning as a horrible melting feeling begins to overtake him. His skin feels like it’s bubbling. His fingers stretch out, growing larger and longer. He hears the popping of his joints as they shift into their new positions over the rushing of blood in his ears. His shoulders stretch and he’s constricted in his own clothes. He rips off his robe, flinging it away, and his legs and feet are in agony. His shoes are now two sizes too small and he could feel his hair resting along his forehead instead of being neatly styled back. 

“Ominis! Ominis, are you alright? Answer me!” Sebastian demands, flipping Ominis over to his back.

Ominis spares him a nod, finding his tongue to be too heavy and thick in his mouth to speak. He no longer feels like he’s ripping apart and the nausea he felt has all but evaporated. 

Sebastian chuckles, “Wow. I… this is absolutely dotty.” 

Ominis’ brows pinch and Sebastian’s hands assist him into a sitting position. 

“Ominis. Open your eyes.” Sebastian urges. 

Ominis sucks in a sharp breath then slowly opens his eyes. A bright face grinning back at him is the first thing he sees. Ominis stares at the boy, taking in the sight. 

“Sebastian?” His voice is not his own and Sebastian’s eyes widen.

“Whoa! Oh, wow, Ominis. You can see.” Sebastian’s grin is contagious and Ominis matches his excitement. 

“I can see. I see you.” Ominis reaches up and touches Sebastian’s face, his eyes blurring with sharp tears burning his eyes and throat. Sebastian lets Ominis trace over his smiling face. It’s all so familiar. The bridge of Sebastian’s nose all the way down to the curve of his brows. Ominis didn’t expect his friend to have such dark eyes and dots all over his face. Sebastian’s hair is about how he pictured though - a thick mess on top of his head.

“Well? Am I what you envisioned, or have I disappointed?” Sebastian teases. 

Ominis shakes his head, “You’re nothing like I envisioned. Yet, it makes sense. I-,” he turns his attention to around them. He gets to his shaky legs and laughs as he looks around. 

The room is far less inviting than he imagined with the stone being a dull, dreary hue. The lights of the brazers and candles lures him closer. The warmth of their light takes his breath away and his hand reaches out to hover just over the flames. He turns his gaze to all the crates, boxes, and other items stored away down here. Some are covered in a fine layer of dust, while others are draped over with light colored sheets.

“This is the Undercroft.” Ominis mumbles to himself. 

“Indeed it is.” Sebastian grabs each of Ominis’ shoulders and drags him over to a cracked mirror. “And here you are.” 

Ominis stares at the two identical boys in the mirror. Ominis’ eyes widen and the boy across from him does the same. He tilts his head and so does the reflection. He touches over his cheek and drags his fingers down over the tanned, freckled skin. 

He looks over to Sebastian, “How odd indeed.” 

“I must say, this is probably the best you’ve ever looked, Ominis.” Sebastian smirks. 

Ominis laughs, “I’m sure.” 

Ominis stares at Sebastian, finding it unbelievable he can actually see his friend looking back at him with a devilish smile. He could always hear Sebastian’s smirks when he spoke, but to see how it affects his face, especially his eyes - illuminating them in a way Ominis doesn’t quite understand - makes him wonder if all people are this animated.

“Well, as exciting as being here is, there’s a whole bunch of things you ought to see before that potion wears off.” Sebastian states. 

Ominis nods, “Yes. Of course. Where should we begin?” 

Sebastian smirks while guiding Ominis towards the exit gate, “Sorry, my friend, but I’m afraid I can’t go with you.” 

“What?! Why not? This was practically your idea.” Ominis scowls. 

Sebastian raises a brow, “Oh? And tell me how good of an idea will it be for the both of us to be seen together right now? They know I’m a twin, but I doubt they’ll believe this.” He gestures over Ominis. 

“Besides,” Sebastian slips off his robe and tosses it to Ominis, “you already have plans today.” 

“I do?” Ominis shrugs on the robe, adjusting the sleeves and rolling his shoulders.

“Yep! You’re supposed to be meeting up with a certain special someone right about now.” Sebastian grins.

“What? You made plans with her?” Ominis crosses his arms with a frown. 

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “By I, I mean, you, Ominis.” 

Ominis’ brows furrow, “You mean to say you didn’t tell her what we’re doing.” 

“No. It’s better this way - trust me.” Sebastian opens the gate and motions for Ominis to go through, “Now, go to the North Exit. And have fun today. I’ll be here waiting until you come back.” 

Ominis wants to protest, but Sebastian slams the gate closed in his face and starts walking away. Ominis sighs, making his way out of the Undercroft. 

He’s met with a near blinding light once he emerges from the clock. His eyes roam all over, taking in the sights of students passing by. He grips his wand and follows the familiar vibrations towards the North Exit, but his stride is slow. The sounds he’s heard all start to merge together. The paintings, the statues, the students, the smells of certain plants - all of it forms the full picture before him. He stops several times in front of vibrant paintings of faraway places, suits of armor shining in the light, and when he takes a bridge outside, he’s completely entranced. 

The sky above is a color he finds the most pleasing. Blue. That must be the color blue, he realizes. With gentle clouds rolling by, he’s starting to understand how people can gaze up at the heavens for hours on end. Students zip by on their brooms and he laughs at how wonderful the sight is. The sun peeks out over the towering castle. He can’t believe how small the sun is - he always imagined it taking up half the sky considering how much the light reaches. He has to look away when his eyes begin to burn and dark spots blot his vision. He continues his journey to the North Exit, but as he gets closer and closer the more his nerves start to show themselves. 

Seeing Sebastian for the first time was surprising, so he can only imagine how he’ll react to seeing her. His heart won’t slow down - it keeps getting faster and faster with every step closer he gets. His hands clench and unclench themselves and he’s practically grinding his teeth into dust. He’s tempted to turn around, hide in the Undercroft until the potion wears off, just to cease this torture. He’s at the stairway gripping the cool railing as he descends. Just before he reaches the last step, the vibrations of his wand pick up a familiar aura of someone. His stomach twists. He looks over to find a girl standing by the door. 

She cranes her head and smiles with a light wave, “Sebastian! What’re you doing here?” 

Ominis freezes in place - his mind barely able to shove his wand into his robe’s pockets. His heart hammers in his chest and he can’t breathe. She walks towards him with confusion lacing her eyes. Her eyes. He can’t stop staring at them. They’re a beautiful color he’s not familiar with. They almost seem to sparkle. And how she moves is enchanting. It’s like she’s floating right over to him. Her perfume reaches his nose and a smile stretches across his face at the familiarity. 

“Sebastian? Everything alright? Do I have something on my face?” She laughs, but her brows pinch together with slight worry at the thought. 

“What? Um, no. I-, You look great. I-I mean, you’re-, It’s fine.” Ominis curses himself and decides shutting his mouth would be best for now until he regains control of his rattled mind. 

She nods with her eyes slightly narrowed, “Well, um, have you seen Ominis?” 

“Ominis?” 

She laughs, “Yes, Ominis. You know, our friend? You said he’d be meeting me here to go to Hogsmeade. But, it looks like he’s running late.” 

Damn Sebastian for telling her that. He probably thinks he’s so clever, Ominis seethes to himself. 

“Well, actually…,” Ominis takes in her awaiting features, noting how much her face speaks for her - much like Sebastian’s. If only he could recognize what emotion she’s currently conveying with her pinched brows and slight frown. Perhaps Sebastian had a point about not telling her. He turns his gaze to the ground, “He said he wouldn’t be able to make it.” 

“Oh.” Her frown fully forms and she looks away, “D-Did he say why?” 

He curses himself at lying, but he can’t back down now, “He said he wasn’t feeling like himself.”

She nods, slow and disappointed, “I see. I should probably go check on him if he’s not feeling well.” 

“No!” Ominis exclaims, making her eyes widen. “I mean, we could go to Hogsmeade together instead.” 

She cranes her head, her eyes scanning over him as her mouth parts and closes several times. 

“Ominis said I should take you.” He blurts out. “You know, as to not disappoint. He feels terrible about all of this.” 

She spares him a small smile, “Ever the gentleman. Alright, if you don’t mind, I suppose it’d be nice to get away from the castle for the afternoon.” 

He can’t stop his grin from forming and he holds out his arm for her, “Shall we?” 

She raises a brow at him and he realizes all too late how odd this gesture is for ‘Sebastian’ to be making. He quickly lowers his arm and takes the lead with a hurried gait. She doesn’t follow immediately and it takes her a few long strides to catch back up. He opens the door and he’s taken back by the sight which greets him.

The lawn is a vivid pigment in contrast to the stone which cuts through it. The grass is lush and inviting. He kneels down and rests his hand on it. The grass ripples from the wind and he’s beguiled by how peaceful the motion is. He’s felt it a hundred times, but to see it actually happen as it moves in waves across the field makes his smile widen. He remembers Sebastian saying that grass is normally green. He takes in the color of green and how it paints the trees as well in a different shade - a more richer, green. 

“Everything alright?” 

He whips his head over to her, who watches him with a worrying gaze. He quickly stands back up.

“Fine. I apologize - I thought I saw something.” He walks ahead and she keeps up with him. 

Ominis tries to keep himself from staring too long at the fountain as they pass. The water trickles and rings in his ears in a pleasant way, and he wouldn’t mind staring at the rippling water, but he forces himself to keep walking. They continue along the path and when they reach the bridge, he practically slams his chest against the railing to look at the river below.

The water rushes over the different colored rocks, taking various debris of leaves and twigs down stream. He follows the river until he sees the lake shimmering in the distance. He’s aware of her standing by him and her eyes are trained at where he was staring. 

“Something caught your eye again?” She wonders.

“Yes, but it was nothing.” He dismisses. 

She nods with a slight grin, “Are you sure you haven’t caught what currently plagues Ominis? You’re being quite odd today.” 

“I’m fine.” Ominis smiles at her and she nods, but the way her gaze seems to be piercing right through him makes him feel exposed. 

Despite doing his best to keep his eyes straight ahead instead of looking around, he can’t help himself. He can’t believe how beautiful the world is. He looks above them at the tree limbs overhanging the path. The sunlight filters through the canopy and he’s in awe at how such a simple thing could be so magnificent. He could actually see the rays of sunlight - he even reaches out to grab it. Little flying creatures flutter past them towards the bright flowers growing beside the path and he can’t quell his smile as he watches. The sound of the trumpet flowers makes him pause. While the flowers themselves were dazzling, their obnoxious noise masks any notes of admiration within him. 

“You’re quiet today.” She says, bringing his attention to her. The sun illuminates her skin and hair, making her glow. He’s taken back by how captivating she is. His heart picks back up again and his stomach flutters and twists. He likes watching how her voice and lips work in tandem to speak. Then he realizes she’s said something else.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He mumbles. 

She stops walking, making him do the same, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Yes. I’m fine, I assure you.” 

She opens her mouth, but promptly shuts it. She scans over him again then resumes walking. There’s an emotion written upon her face, but he’s not sure what it is. He’s finding great difficulty in discerning anything she says, too. A task he had no trouble with before, but now his mind can’t piece together her face with what’s being said.

The path winds up the hill and as they reach the top, his breath escapes him at the sight of Hogwarts in the distance. He all but sprints towards the overlook and he lets out a slight laugh at the castle. It was grand. Truly, and utterly, grand. The lake surrounds the school - which seemingly emerged with the jagged rocks which encompasses it. The towering trees seem almost insignificant compared to the striking, massive castle. 

“Quite a sight.” She says with a sigh while she joins him at the railing. “It never fails to give me goosebumps.” 

A flock of birds fly in front of Hogwarts and Ominis nods, “Magnificent.” 

She watches him and her lips try tugging into a smile, but she refuses to let it form. She pats the railing then turns towards the path.

“Come along. We’re nearly there.” 

Ominis takes in Hogwarts for a moment longer before following after her. 

He’s looking up at a tree with leaves that were not green, but a light, almost soft color. He’s perplexed by the idea of trees being more than just green when his eyes widen at the entrance to the town. Hogsmeade is bustling with students and patrons alike - some rushing to get to where they need to be while others stroll about with not a care in the world.

She turns to him with a slight grin, “How about checking out Gladrags first? I’m in need of a new pair of gloves.” 

He nods, his eyes darting everywhere. So much is happening, it’s enough to spin his head. Hogsmeade has always been a bit overwhelming to his senses - so many smells, sounds, and people. It makes it hard for him to know what’s happening, or where he was at times. Now, he sees the chaos before him is just as he imagined. Cauldrons bubble over crackling fires, lively music plays in the distance, several conversations all happening at once - it makes him grin with how mad this whole place is.

A hand takes his and he doesn’t think twice about grasping it back, letting it tug him along as he looks around. His mind catches up to him after a few steps and he looks down to find her leading him. He’s about to take his hand back and come up with some excuse to his bewilderment, but she glances towards him with a soft smile. This smile is far different from the others she’s had. It reaches all the way to her eyes. For some reason, it makes his chest warm and his breathing choppy - he can’t possibly remove his hand now. Not if it means extinguishing this feeling.

Her pace is far easier than it was on the way here. It gives him plenty of time to take in the sights of the different shops as they pass by. He recognizes the scents of some, like Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks, and others surprise him by their appearance, like Spintwitches. Birds fly overhead - which he figures out are owls due to the parcels they carry - and watering cans zip past to the different rows of blooming flowers. He notices the hanging lights overhead and he wonders what nighttime must look like. 

Honeydukes’ display of assorted, bright candy is what brings him to a full stop. The candy is vibrant and comes in so many designs and shapes. 

“Do you want to go inside?” She questions.

He slowly nods and she giggles - leading him into the candy shop. 

He can’t contain his smile at the vast array of colors before him. There’s more than he could ever imagine and he feels somewhat annoyed by how little everyone has told him - giving him only basic colors and denying him the plethora of shades they come in. It makes what he saw at Hogwarts seem almost muted in tone by comparison. 

They browse the vast selection of succulent candies, chocolates, and cakes until he finds his favorite - Peppermint Toad. He picks up the box with a grin. He’s always enjoyed the sharp mint taste and how the toad hops around in his stomach after. He finds the whole experience amusing - much to Anne and Sebastian’s confusion. 

“Is there anything you would like?” He asks, glancing towards her. 

She laughs, “You want to get me something?” 

He nods, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” 

She bites her lip with a slight shake of her head, “I wouldn’t mind a Chocolate Frog then. Since you’re offering.” 

He pays for their sweets and they head back out - making their way towards Gladrags. He stares at the toad-shaped treat, noting how the pattern swirls with two different colors which possess a slight shine, before he pops it into his mouth. He frowns for a moment at the peppermint taste not being nearly as predominant as he remembers. While the toad hops in his stomach, she’s already eaten her chocolate and is examining her card.

“Merlin’s Beard. I got Almeric Sawbridge. Again.” She huffs.

He laughs at her sour expression. Her frown melts away into a warm grin and she looks away.

“I didn’t know you liked Peppermint Toads.” She comments. “Thought only Ominis did.” 

Ominis curses himself for not thinking about such an oversight.

“I… normally don’t. I only wanted to see why Ominis enjoys them so.” He says.

“And?” She smiles. “What’s your verdict?” 

“They’re adequate.”

She giggles with a slight shake of her head.

They arrive at Gladrags and the smell of pigment and fabric greet them as they walk in. She wanders over to a dress on display. She skims over the fabric with a slight smile then looks over to him.

“What do you think of this orange?” She wonders. 

The dark, rich color is almost regal in appearance. He touches the dress, following the seam down the bodice and enjoying the stiff material. 

“It looks beautiful.” He says. 

Her eyes are aflame and a wide smile comes over her. She bites her lip then turns away towards the scarves. She looks over them until she finds one. She holds it out to inspect it before turning back to him.

“Do you think Ominis would like this?” She asks. 

The monotonous tone of the scarf doesn’t evoke anything in him until he feels the article of clothing. It’s soft and brings a smile to his face. 

“I like it.” He comments then shakes his head. “So, I’m sure Ominis would as well.” 

She laughs, wrapping the scarf around his neck, “I’m glad you think so. Mind holding on to it for me then?” 

“I-, of course.” He can feel his cheeks heating up as she smooths down the scarf on his chest. When her eyes meet his, a gasp escapes him. He feels encapsulated in a warmth he’s never experienced before. All from one single look. He’s slightly thankful he can’t see her all the time for he’s sure he would never be able to speak a coherent sentence to her otherwise. 

 She pays for the scarf then grabs his hand again, leading him outside. She turns to him with a grin. 

“What would you like to do today?”

The question takes him by surprise and he can’t form a single thought to reply back to her. 

“Well, if you have nothing in mind, then I may have something we can do.” 

He smiles, “Lead the way.” 

She squeezes his hand and his heart soars at the twinkle in her eyes. She’s up to something, but he can’t find it in himself to care. She leads him through Hogsmeade until they’re at the park. He’s heard the dragon’s rumbles from the topiary before, but he finds great amusement in seeing it. It’s far more animated than he imagined. And the dragon itself, while somewhat cute, gives him a slight shiver at how powerful of a beast they are. The colorful, flowered trees rain down their petals and he reaches out to grab one, but it slips right through his fingers. She takes them to the overlook and he can see the train station below them. Over in the distance, Hogwarts stands noblely. 

“Well,” he faces her, “what did you have in mind?” 

She has a sly smile as she gazes out over the scenery before them. The wind ruffles through her hair and he’s momentarily dizzy due to his lack of breathing. He needs to cease his staring, lest he die from self-induced asphyxiation, yet he's drawn to her and he’s unable to break away.

“It’s a fine day for some sightseeing.” She reaches into her robes and pulls out a worn, leather duffle bag. She glances around to ensure they’re still alone before she opens the bag. 

A whooshing noise, followed by a light, emits from the bag. Before his eyes, a giant beast emerges, followed by another similar beast with different colorings. The creatures chirp and scratch their sharp claws on the stone ground. His eyes widen and he’s quick to step away from them and be closer to her.

“Hippogriffs.” She states. 

“What do we need them for?” He questions - not bothering to mask his apprehension. 

She grins as she goes to one of the Hippogriffs that’s similar in coloring as the scarf she gave him. 

“This is Highwing. She’s quite spectacular, isn’t she?” She holds out her hand and Highwing bumps her beak against her palm. “And the other one is her mate. Dashmane.” 

“Dashmane?” 

She giggles, “Yes, because he’s so dashing.” 

The darker shade of the beast’s plumage shimmers in the sunlight. Ominis appreciates how stunning both of the creatures are. 

“First things first, you must introduce yourself to him - by giving a low bow.” She informs him.

Ominis glances between her and Dashmane before he does as she instructed. He bows, his back low and his head even lower. His eyes dart up to the creature as Dashmane bows back to him. 

“Excellent.” She grins as she goes to Highwing’s side then mounts the awaiting beast. She looks over to him expectantly. 

“But, I-I don’t know how to fly.” He protests. 

“You’ll be fine O-,” She pauses with a slight cough, “Sebastian. You’ll pick it right up.”

He gulps as he follows her movements and manages to jump then swing his leg over Dashmane. Ominis situates himself on the beast’s back. He looks over to her and she has a pleased smile. She appears relaxed - like this is natural for her to be on the back of a Hippogriff.

“Ready?” She wonders. 

He examines Dashmane, “Where do I hold on to?” 

She shrugs, “Anywhere you can.” 

He frowns, settling on grabbing a hold of a few tufts of feathers near the nape of Dashmane’s neck. Dashmane lets out a startled squawk, rearing up and nearly sending Ominis sliding off. Dashmane gallops forward and his wings unfurl as he vaults over the stone banister. With a few mighty flaps of his wings, Dashmane is soaring over the train tracks and towards the train station. Ominis’ heart is pounding in his chest and his eyes are blurring through the tears streaming past his temple. He feels like he’s close to falling off Dashmane’s back at any moment - or at the slightest movement.

A screech gets his attention as she flies in front of him. She looks over at Ominis with a wide smile. She’s truly a natural flier with how at ease she appears to be. Her and Highwing take the lead. Dashmane lets out a chirp of his own as he tries to catch up. Bystanders below, waiting for the Hogwarts Express, all stare up as they pass overhead. She curves off to the left towards a waterfall before banking back towards the arched bridge, diving below. Ominis clutches onto Dashmane as he follows, his stomach flipping and his breathing erratic. 

She turns Highwing away from the lake and over the tree line - following the lake’s shore. She spares him glances to ensure he’s still following as she takes them over the treetops. The tips shudder and move as they fly by they’re so close. She dives below the trees, with Dashmane doing the same, and they zip along the path until she takes them high above once more. His head turns every which way as he takes in the sight of the valley from above. The rivers cut through the growth of trees similar to the veins on his hands. He spots clusters of homes tucked away in the forest. 

They head towards an old castle or keep of some kind, with a blooming tree of the same vibrant, soft color from Hogsmeade, where they fly over as they turn back towards Hogwarts. He stares at the ruined estate in wonder at what it could’ve been. He turns his attention back to her and he adjusts himself on Dashmane. He lowers himself and, as if reading his thoughts, Dashmane flaps his wings harder than before.

Dashmane finally catches up to her and Highwing. She looks over to them and she laughs.

“You’re getting the hang of it!” She shouts. “Now, try to keep up!” 

Ominis’ eyes widen as she careens towards the river below. He tightens his grip then does the same. They soar across a river until they’re back over the Black Lake. He can’t stop his heart from beating wildly, but he’s finding the rush to be too thrilling to suppress. He leans himself over enough to catch his rippled reflection in the lake. He frowns at Sebastian being the face looking back at him. He focuses back on their flight.

She’s taking them towards Hogwarts, flying higher and higher as they near. Ominis can place what some of these areas are - like the boathouse where he arrived his very first year. Feels like only yesterday when he made the climb up all those steps and entered the Great Hall for the first time.

She takes them over the ramp and heads straight for the courtyard leading to the Great Hall. Ominis can make out the students below with some of them pointing up at them as they near. Highwing angles upwards before taking a dive right past the courtyard. Ominis’ eyes widen as Dashmane follows the route and dives after them. His heart is in his throat and his stomach drops. They’re heading right into a stone bridge and his whole body tenses up. Dashmane closes up his wings and zips through the archway. 

Ominis lets out a breath as Dashmane follows along the river, keeping his wingspan small enough to navigate the narrow crevice. Highwing zips through then banks sharply to the left at the divide. He emerges from the river just as she turns back towards a waterfall underneath the castle. As they turn out to trail along the embankment of the lake, she leads them towards another cascading river towards the old wooden long bridge. 

She flies them underneath and leads them up the waterfall, flying higher and higher over a stone bridge, until she turns to the left towards a plateau. She lands at a clearing with various rocks set up in a large circle around the area. He manages to bring Dashmane into a gentle landing, prancing up to be next to Highwing. 

“See. I knew you could fly.” She grins at him, her hair windblown and her face radiating. 

“I think you were trying to get us killed.” He retorts with a smile. 

She laughs, dismounting from Highwing then him dismounting as well. She brings out the strange leather bag again and opens it. The bag sucks both Highwing and Dashmane inside. She puts the bag away then motions with her head towards the edge of the plateau. She takes a seat on the rock, her legs draping over the edge. He sits next to her and he takes in the sight before them. 

The sun is beginning to set behind them, casting a pale, but brilliant, glow upon Hogwarts. Birds fly around a tower, which he realizes is the Owlery. 

“I’m glad we got here in time.” She whispers, her eyes set towards the sunset. “I wanted your first sunset to be special.” 

“It already is-,” the words die in his mouth as he pieces together what she just said. 

“I-I mean-, what do you mean my first sunset?” He tries to play off. 

Her eyes roll over to him with an amused grin playing on her lips.

“Do not play coy with me now, Ominis. I know it’s you.” 

His eyes widen and he can feel a burning heat overtake his face. She giggles, placing a warm hand on his.

“While I was irritated you did not tell me of your ploy at first, I figured you must have your reasons to keep me in the dark on this.” 

His head falls with a sigh, “No. Not a good reason by any sort of means.” 

She laughs again, “I assume Sebastian must be involved.” 

“This was his idea, if that’s what you’re implying.” He looks over to her, “When did you figure it out?” 

She hums, “I had a feeling something was wrong when you looked at the grass like you’ve never seen it before. Then again, when we got to Hogsmeade, you were completely taken away. And Sebastian most certainly doesn’t look at me the way you did today. But, what finally confirmed my suspicions, was when I asked what you thought of that orange dress. Which was very clearly purple, by the by.” 

He closes his eyes with a soft groan, “You are far too clever of a witch at times.” He looks over to her with raised brows. “Does that mean that harrowing flight was to get back at me?” 

She bites her bottom lip, “A bit. But, to also show you as much as possible before that Polyjuice Potion wears off.” She sighs, “I wish you would’ve told me. I could’ve made today special for you.” 

“It has been special.” He takes her hand in his with a smile. 

The look upon her face sends him spiraling once more. He’s not sure what it is, but he knows how it makes him feel. She’s the first to look away and she’s back to gazing at the sunset.

“You don’t want to miss this.” She says in a quiet voice. 

He looks off towards where the sun is setting behind the rolling mountains. The hills in the distance are draped in a fog and the colors begin to bloom across the landscape. 

“What colors are these?” He wonders. 

“Well, do you see there?” She points towards a large patch of a bright pigment which echoes across the sky. “That’s actually orange.” 

“Orange.” He laughs. “I see my mistake now.” 

She smiles as she points to another section of a softer color similar to some of the vibrant trees he saw, “That there, is pink.” 

His lips stretch into a smile, “Pink. I think I do like pink.” 

“And over there,” she points toward a darker color, far richer than the rest, “is purple. And there, where the sun is, is yellow, or actually, more accurately, gold.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, taking in this new knowledge. He wants to engrain this picture before him into his mind. The clouds hold a vast array of pigments like a field of flowers. And he can see so far - miles upon miles with no end in sight. It all evokes a well of emotion within him. And when he looks down at her, the sunset reflecting upon her soft features and in her eyes, he all but breaks. 

“I wish I could see this everyday.” His voice wavers. 

She looks over to him - her lips parted in concern and her smile fading. She wants to say something, the anguish is clear. His hand cups her cheek and her eyes close at the contact. 

“I don’t mean to cause you distress, love. I only mean to say - I envy Sebastian, and everyone else, that’s able to gaze upon you. I would love to do nothing more than to sing you ballads about your beauty.” He strokes her cheek, her eyes remaining close as she places her hand over his to press him closer to her face. 

“You don’t need to serenade me, Ominis.”

“I know.” He smiles. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to.” 

His other hand joins in and he feels over her face - an action he has done several times. But, to see what he’s felt, elates him. It’s almost terrifying how strong the notion is. Her eyes remain close as he traces over her cheeks and down her nose then all the way to her jawline and lips. 

“I hope I’m what you were expecting.” She whispers, her brows knitting together as she slowly opens her eyes.

He smiles as he tucks away the wild hairs framing her face, “More than I could’ve ever imagined.”

The light begins to fade away and they’re soon swathed in a darkness he’s all too familiar with. He’s amazed he’s still able to somewhat see. Hogwarts illuminates in a soft glow and a sense of coziness strikes him. She leans closer to him, resting her hand on his chest.

“Lay with me.” She whispers while she pushes him back towards the ground. 

He lets her push him, falling back onto the cold stone beneath them. He watches her as she tucks herself next to him and she faces up towards the sky. Her eyes shift towards him and she laughs.

“Look up.”

She stares at him as he obeys her command. The sky is no longer a bright blue, but a darker, far richer shade. But what catches his eyes are the shimmering dots which twinkle in various prismatic colors. A gasp leaves him and she giggles.

“Those are the stars. And over there is the moon.” She points in front of them and he follows her finger towards the most breathtaking thing. The moon, once described to him as silver, seems almost unreal as it hovers in the night sky. Its light is cold compared to the sun and he finds himself in awe at its majesty.

“It’s all so beautiful.” He whispers while he hugs her closer to him.

Something shifts within him. He lets out a gasp then looks at his hand. His fingers and knuckles are shifting before his very eyes. 

“No. No, not yet.” He curses. 

She’s about to question what’s wrong when her eyes widen, “Ominis. Your hair. It’s… the potion.” 

He sits up - her doing the same- and he looks around. He doesn’t want this to end, but already the darkness is beginning to cloud his vision. He looks to her, pulling her close to him. He cups both sides of her cheeks and she holds him closer. 

She smiles as she says, “I love you, Ominis.” 

Seeing her lips move, the genuineness in her expression, and the softness in her gaze sends him careening. He stares at her, taking in every little piece of her, while the darkness consumes more and more. 

Then, she’s gone. 

He lets out a shaky breath and a coldness seeps into him. He’s still - unable to move. 

When she presses her forehead to his, he can no longer contain himself. Tears stream down his cheeks and she’s quick to embrace him, holding his head into the crook of her neck as he sobs. She strokes down his back while her other hand soothes his hair. There’s a whirlwind of emotion raging through him and he doesn’t know how to calm himself down. He’s thankful she’s not chastising him for acting this way - so pathetic and broken. Her gentle movements ground him from fully sinking into the numbing coldness which threatens to drag him deeper into an endless abyss. 

She whispers soft words, but he’s so lost he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. All he can notice is how warm she is and how tightly she holds him. Never once letting him go.

The chaos slowly quells and he’s exhausted himself. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse and quiet. “I-I should have better control over myself. I-I didn’t anticipate how-, how much I-,” 

“It’s okay, Ominis.” She kisses his temple. “It’s okay.” 

She kisses his tear-stained cheek then the corner of his lips. He’s practically ravenous as he hooks his fingers into her hair to guide her into a searing kiss. A whimper escapes him at the rawness of her lips against his. When she parts, he opens his eyes in hopes he would catch just a faint glimpse of her. 

But no… all he has left is the memory of today. The vibrancy of the world and the breathtaking beauty she possesses. 

He sighs, “There’s a part of me that wishes I could do this everyday.” He pauses, brushing the tip of his nose against hers and tangling his fingers further into her hair. “But, another part is glad to be back in my own skin.”

She lets out a soft hum of agreement, “I very much like you being back. It was quite odd having to hold Sebastian’s hand today.” 

He laughs, “I can imagine.” 

“I do love you, Ominis. All parts of you.” She says. 

His throat tightens, but he’s done shedding tears. He brings her into a much softer kiss this time then he whispers, “I love you, too.” 

The words feel lacking. They aren’t enough to convey the strong feelings he has for her. But, how else could he describe the way she makes him feel. How else could he even come close to explaining that she is so very precious and dear to him. So, he settles with what he can for now.

“We should head back. We’ll have to sneak into the kitchens if we’re to get any sort of dinner tonight.” 

“We should get Sebastian as well. I’m sure he’s dying to leave the confines of the Undercroft by now. Although, maybe it’s good for him to be locked away for a while.” Ominis muses with a slight smirk.

She giggles, “Certainly keeps him out of trouble.” 

They head back to the castle with her practically glued to his side as she explains all the questions he has about the things he saw today. His fingers occasionally twisting the soft fabric of the scarf draped across his neck. He smiles as he knows exactly what color it is.

==================================

It’s not until the next day when the rumors around the school finally reach Sebastian that he corners Ominis just before Charms class. 

“What’s this about ‘me’ flying a bloody Hippogriff over the school yesterday?” 

Ominis can only smirk in response. 

----------------------------------------

AN: Bruh i just can't help myself but add some flying INTO EVERYTHING!! I HAVE A PROBLEM! Like, when I saw the scene of Dany and Jon in GoT doing their dragon flight when i was searching for music, i just knew i had to do it here. LOL i even went flying around the world in game trying to find the best route as well.

You can find the plateau where this takes place below by the Merlin Trail:

and here's my horrible, low quality, sunset pic via the pic i took of my tv from my phone lollll.

Anyways, I really wanted to capture the thought of Ominis not having a clue what the heck colors are and most def not being able to understand certain more obscure facial expressions (like suspicion). And I really liked the idea of leaving the Fifth Year in the dark about the Polyjuice Potion... idk why. i just thought it was fun LOL.

Hopefully it wasn't too weird about her holding his hand as 'Sebastian' but I was going for the 'yeah she's figured out it's ominis' type vibe. idk hopefully that's conveyed

Ominis breathed out a defeated sigh. “It’s ironic. When I left home, I vowed to leave the Dark Arts behind. And yet, here I am…Stand back.”

You took several steps backward, and Ominis turned to face the door. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered to himself.

You stared in awe as a low hissing came from your friend’s lips. The eyes of two of the snakes carved in the door illuminated with green light, and they slithered up around the frame. The door opened.

“It worked!” you said, stunned. “Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.”

“Between the two of you, I’m starting to feel left out,” Sebastian whinged light-heartedly.

Ominis’s brows drew together. “Between the two of us?”

“I – never mind,” Sebastian stuttered, realizing his slip.

You weren’t sure yet if you could trust Ominis with your secret. Professor Fig had asked you not to share details with anyone, and you’d already gone against that advice with Sebastian.

You entered into the next room and were met with a locked gate. Next to it was a dial with a statue of a snake atop it. Once you were all inside, the door you’d come through shut behind you. That was the first moment where you thought this might be a mistake. Sebastian pointed out another sealed gate. Ominis suggested inspecting them for clues on how to proceed forward.

You ducked through a half-opened gate and found another note from Noctua. Her description of feeling unwelcome in the scriptorium didn’t inspire confidence in you. Nearby was another dial. You lit the torch beside it and turned one of the large metal discs. A hissing emitted from the statue as it began to rotate. You flicked through the dial, studying the symbols. Both discs had the same pattern.

In a flash, the snake lunged at you, biting your jaw as you stumbled backwards.

“That didn’t sound good,” Ominis said.

“It’s fine,” you asserted, frustration edging into your voice as you wiped the blood from your face with your sleeve. You really should’ve expected something like that.

“Salazar Slytherin didn’t make this easy,” Sebastian observed.

Obviously, you thought as you rolled your eyes. You’d be more than happy to let him take a stab at the dial.

You returned to the other dial. The gate next to it had symbols carved into it, as well. You illuminated your wand and saw that they matched some from the dial. You wished you’d noted that earlier.

“I think matching the dial to the symbols on the gate will open it,” you said.

“It seems Slytherin liked to play games,” Ominis said thoughtfully.

“Must run in the family,” Sebastian quipped.

“Look in a mirror, Sebastian,” Ominis replied irritably.

You quickly aligned the symbols on the dial to the ones sealing the doorway next to it. The serpents on the metal gate shifted, and it raised automatically.

“Matching the symbols did open it,” you said, relieved. You had half expected to be bitten again.

“Was about to do that myself, but you got to it first,” Sebastian said.

You just shot him a waspish look.

He coughed awkwardly. “Nice work,” he said.

You shook your head before continuing forward. In a pit at the end of the corridor, you found a third dial along with another note from Noctua.

I failed the dial, and it struck my face as if it were a real serpent, she started. You scoffed to yourself. Yeah, thanks for the warning, you thought sarcastically as you dabbed at your stinging jaw. She continued on in her letter to decry the way their family forced dark magic on their children.

“Ominis, your aunt wanted to change your family’s traditions,” you said.

“She did,” he confirmed in a wistful voice. “And she was my favourite person in the world for it.”

You felt a pang of sorrow for your friend. He’d lost the only member of his family that had ever been decent to him. You hoped for his sake that this adventure would provide answers as to what happened to her.

You went back to the main room, checking the symbols on the other gate that was still sealed. You went back to the dial that’d bitten you. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you shifted the discs. There were two dials and only one door. You couldn’t be certain which went with it. You were relieved when you heard the metal clanking of the gate opening, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“That sounded promising,” Ominis said.

“Another dial solved,” you replied gleefully as you searched for another door.

“Impressive. Nice work,” Ominis’s silky voice called out almost reverently from the dark.

You chuckled at how similar yet distinct the two Slytherins were, complimenting you with the same words but in entirely different ways.

You entered the newly opened archway. You read yet another note left behind by Noctua, warning of painful challenges but telling of rewards, as well. You relayed the information to your companions.

“Painful – that’s the part I’m wary of,” Ominis said, sounding nervous.

“All I heard was rewards. Keep going,” Sebastian replied with a flippant fort of confidence.

Sure enough, there was another gate at the back of the new room. You wound your way back to the remaining dial and shifted it to match the final gate. Once you aligned the discs, the gate opened with a hiss. You downed a wiggenweld to heal your gashed chin now that you weren’t likely to be bitten again. Hopefully.

“Excellent work,” Sebastian said brightly. “We’re another step closer to the scriptorium.”

Sebastian was just outside the archway when you made it back. “I spotted something ahead,” he said, fear edging into his voice for the first time. “Looks troubling.”

“This whole place is troubling, but, for my aunt’s sake, we cannot stop now,” Ominis replied.

You noted privately that you couldn’t really stop even if you had wanted to. Having only one way forward, the three of you crept into the newly revealed corridor. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach as you stepped inside.

Curiously, the torches lining the space were already lit. More clanking rang out behind you.

“The gate!” Sebastian said in a panicked tone. “I think we’re locked in. Again.”

“Then Salazar Slytherin is not yet finished with us,” Ominis said dismally.

You were inclined to agree. You couldn’t help but think that Noctua’s optimism about the Hogwarts founder was misplaced. You approached the door at the end of the corridor, feeling a cold wash over you like walking through a ghost.

Your heart dropped as you spotted the bones lying in front of the door, right next to the word ‘crucio’ in glowing letters. On the other side of the skeleton, you found another note. With shaking hands, you reread how to proceed. You looked again at the remains of Ominis’s aunt. You felt like you were about to be sick.

“Ominis. A skeleton…And Noctua’s last journal entry. She mentions being trapped here – blocked by an Unforgivable Curse,” you said, unable to bring yourself to put it more directly.

Ominis looked shattered. “This…is where she died,” he said in disbelief. He began pacing in anger. “This is where we’ll die. I shouldn’t have listened to either of you.”

His words struck harder than you would’ve expected.

“Ominis, I’m truly sorry about your aunt,” Sebastian said. “But, I know what to do. It’s going to be difficult.”

You raised an eyebrow at the brunet. You discussed the matter with him. He voiced aloud what you already knew. The only way out was casting the cruciatus curse. Something only one of you had done before. Sebastian implored you to talk to Ominis.

You had already convinced him to go into this despicable place. You couldn’t ask him to cast an unforgivable, too. Sebastian steeled himself to confront him.

“Ominis, I know this is the last thing you want to do–” Sebastian started.

“Yes! It is! I thought you knew me better!” Ominis spat back.

“But this is different,” Sebastian insisted. “Whoever you cast it upon will have agreed to it first. It wouldn’t be an innocent ‘victim.’ We have to open the door.”

“The spell won’t work unless you mean it,” Ominis said. “That’s true of all unforgivables. If it must be done, then one of you must cast it.”

“What do we do now?” you asked Sebastian. “Ominis is not going to cast the cruciatus curse again.”

“Ridiculous!” Sebastian groused. “As if dying in here is a better option than casting a damned spell.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s up to us. I can teach you crucio, or I can cast it on you.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait – you didn’t say you knew how to cast crucio,” you said.

Sebastian pursed his lips. “Because I’m not sure I do,” he replied. “Ominis knows that, yet he’s left us no choice. I don’t yearn to follow in Noctua Gaunt’s footsteps.” He glanced down at the remains. “I think I can cast it if I have to.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of casting the curse. The hatred required. “I don’t want to learn the curse, but I can handle the pain,” you said more confidently than you felt. “It’s fine. Cast it on me.”

“I shan’t forget this,” Sebastian vowed. He swallowed thickly. “Ready?”

You nodded. “I’m ready,” you said, though your trembling voice betrayed how untrue that was. How could you be ready for such a thing?

Sebastian raised his wand. “Crucio!” he said quickly, before he could lose his nerve.

A red bolt erupted from his wand and struck you. You crumpled to the floor as blinding pain flooded through your whole body. You cried out. It was like molten shrapnel had exploded out from within you, shredding your muscles, tearing apart your organs, and splintering your bones.

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked, his voice was scared and distant.

You could barely make sense of the words as your senses were overtaken. The red jet arced from you to the door, and it melted away. Jolts of pain still crackled through you as you pushed yourself onto your feet. You struggled to pull air into your lungs.

“A-are you all right?” Ominis asked, clearly shaken.

“That pain,” you groaned. You looked at Ominis’s horrified expression and felt guilt stab into you at the trauma he must be relieving. You couldn’t imagine going through that so young. “It was excruciating, but I’ll survive. Let’s keep moving.”

You just wanted out of there.

Sebastian was enraptured as he entered the room – as if it were sodding Honeydukes and not the lair of a dark wizard. Ominis edged cautiously inside, as well. For once, the door didn’t slam behind you.

You found an old tome and informed Sebastian and Ominis.

“You found something?” Sebastian asked excitedly.

“You two go ahead – let me know what’s in it,” Ominis said, voice still quavering. “I’ll wander around a bit.”

You were about to check on him, but Sebastian appeared at your side. “May I have a look?” he asked, gesturing to the book in your grasp. You handed it over.

“What do you think?” you asked.

“Looks like a spellbook of some kind,” Sebastian replied eagerly. “This is incredible! A Hogwarts founder’s possession – what an honour.” He shook his head. “Still can’t believe Ominis never told me about his aunt and what she found.”

You could. In fact, you wished he’d never brought it up – and that you’d never pushed him on it. “What will you do with Slytherin’s spellbook?” you asked, aiming for a casual tone. Really, you were nervous about his intentions.

Sebastian gave you a playful grin. “What I do with every book – read it! Having professors as parents ingrained that habit early on,” he said lightly. “But I can do that later. For now, I say we explore this room. It’s breathtaking.”

You didn’t feel the same eagerness Sebastian showed – perhaps because he wasn’t the one who had just been tortured. Still, it was a bit shocking to see him so chipper after casting an unforgivable on you mere minutes ago.

“I’ve been getting an uneasy feeling about this place,” Ominis called anxiously up to you both. “We shouldn’t linger here. Let’s find a way out, please.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I don’t want to leave, but I owe you – both of you,” he said. “Without both of you, we’d never have made it this far.”

“We were lucky – we could have died!” Ominis said seriously. “We must swear never to do this again.”

You saw Sebastian roll his eyes. You picked up a note lying on the desk as you tried to shove down your irritation with the boy.

“I see a way out!” Sebastian announced.

“Best news I’ve heard all day,” Ominis replied, breathing a sigh of relief as he climbed the stairs.

You all exited through the hidden doorway.

“Ominis, about your aunt–” Sebastian started as he emerged from the wall back into the dungeon corridor.

“Please, Sebastian,” Ominis cut him off. “I meant what I said before. We swear right now never to engage in anything to do with dark magic again!”

“Understood,” Sebastian replied immediately, much to your surprise. “I’m truly sorry about your aunt, Ominis.”

“I suppose, after all this, I am grateful to know what happened to her,” he said quietly. He turned to you. “Thank you.”

You didn’t know what to say. Sebastian hurried off, probably to go delve into the book. Ominis leaned against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he tried to process the night’s events.

You chewed your lip. “Ominis, I’m so sorry I dragged you down there. I hadn’t imagined we’d end up trapped like that,” you said sincerely.

He pushed off the wall, stepping toward you. “Salazar Slytherin did,” he replied darkly. “He’s to blame for many unimaginable things.”

You felt a new wave of fear at Sebastian having his spellbook.

“I’m just glad we made it out of there,” he continued. “How are you doing? The cruciatus curse is pure torture – I would know.”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Sebastian told me a little of what happened when you were young,” you said. “Sounds as if you had no choice.”

Ominis sighed. “Should’ve known he would’ve told you,” he muttered. “And one always has a choice. I’m as guilty as the worst of my family. Like I said, unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain, and for that I shall never forgive myself. I will regret casting it forever.”

You flinched as you thought of the pain that had surged through you less than half an hour ago. Sebastian had wanted you to feel it. You couldn’t imagine feeling that way toward him or Ominis, especially now that you knew what it was like.

Warm fingers slipped into your hand, and you looked up to see Ominis’s brow furrowed in concern. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should’ve insisted we found another way out. Really, I shouldn’t have told Sebastian about the scriptorium in the first place. I am glad to know what happened to my aunt, but…not at your expense.”

You swallow thickly as you stared up at his kind face. “I’m all right, really,” you said.

He arched a brow at you. “Don’t lie to me,” he said firmly. “I can feel your hand shaking.”

You realized he was right. Your muscles were twitching with aftershocks from the curse. You suspected they had been since Sebastian’s curse released. You were just so out of sorts that you hadn’t noticed. “Oh,” you said dimly.

Ominis laced his fingers with yours. “Let’s get you some tea and a blanket. You must be freezing,” he said.

You were freezing, you realized. Ominis led you into the Slytherin common room. You just followed him numbly. It was like your body had reacted to the pain by shutting off your senses. Your mind had been overwhelmed. You felt like you were moving through fog now.

Before you knew it, you had a hot cup of tea in your hands and a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Ominis rubbed slow circles on your back. His touch grounded you, keeping you from slipping into the recesses of your mind.

“Is this how you felt after?” you asked, turning your glazed eyes toward Ominis.

He stiffened, his hand freezing in place, as his features contorted in a grimace. You could see his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Ominis shook his head. “I expect so,” he said thoughtfully, answering your question. “I would have a tremor and feel a numbing cold. One of our elves tended to me after the first time. My mother locked me in my room, and he brought me tea and tucked me into bed with extra blankets even though she’d instructed them to leave me alone. He…He also knew how it felt.” His jaw tensed. “My family distributes their cruelty quite generously.” He spat out the last sentence like venom.

You felt tears prick your eyes. “I’m sorry you both went through that,” you said.

He just nodded.

“The numbness wears off after a while,” he said as he resumed the languid circles on back. “Then it’s like…your senses are frayed. Everything is just…too much. Noise. Scents. Everywhere is too hot or too cold. Even clothes are…Well, you get the idea.”

His cheeks were coloured pink.

“How long until that starts?” you asked. It sounded dreadful.

“Maybe an hour from now?” he said. He cleared his throat. “I found that a warm bath in a quiet room helps. Not hot but body temperature. It’s almost like floating in nothing. I expect you’d want the room dark, as well, but I really wouldn’t know.”

He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but laugh, as well. You sipped your tea, and you felt yourself relax slightly as the warm liquid slid down your throat. A shiver ran through you, and you tucked into Ominis’s side, resting your head on his shoulder.

He was caught by surprise, but he quickly wrapped his arm around you, holding you tightly to himself. He even rested his head on top of yours.

You stayed like that for a long time. Ominis traced his wand down a schoolbook with the hand not holding you. He checked in every once in a while to make sure you hadn’t run out of tea, casting a charm to refill your cup when needed. Slowly, your tremor subsided and your body warmed. The cold nothingness that had enveloped you was eventually replaced by a sort of static. It was barely noticeable at first, but it grew more and more grating. You felt stifled between the fire, blanket, and Ominis’s warm body next to you. You had to set your tea down because it was scalding. Your uniform scratched like sandpaper over every inch of your skin. The crackling of the flames and students speaking in low voices grew louder until the noises pounded in your ears. The dim common room seemed blindingly bright. Even the usually calming scent of Ominis’s cologne was an attack on your senses.

You groaned as you curled into yourself. Ominis scooted away from you, and you felt a pang of guilt at the relief it gave you.

“Let’s get you that bath,” Ominis said quietly as he tucked his book into his bag.

He grabbed your sleeve and tugged you to the lavatory. You cast a charm to block the windows. Only the faintest light filtered through. You sagged against one of the sinks, holding your frazzled head in your hands. Ominis filled a tub with a water-making charm, knowing the rush from the taps would be deafening. He heated the water with another spell, dipping his hand it to ensure it was the right temperature. He even set out a towel for you.

“All set,” he said gently. “I’ll relock the door on my way out so no one disturbs you.”

“Could you…stay?” you asked sheepishly.

You could just make out Ominis’s eyes as they widened. “Oh,” he squeaked. “Erm, yes, I suppose so. Are you sure you want me to?”

“I’d rather not be alone,” you admitted, wincing at your own voice as it seemed to boom out from you. “And, well, it’s not like you can see anything…right?”

He chuckled softly. “You’re correct,” he whispered.

He moved to a window seat on the far wall, and you slipped out of your robes. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, your cheeks flushed as you stood naked in a room with Ominis in it. The cold air was like ice on your skin. You quickly climbed into the bath. It was like applying a balm to a sunburn. You really did feel wrapped in nothing as you were surrounded by water exactly the same temperature as you. You closed your eyes, shutting out the last bit of light.

You felt the tension that had been mounting melt out of your body. The only sensations aside from the cool air on your face were the sound of your own breathing and occasional turn of a page as Ominis read. You couldn’t even hear his breaths from where he sat.

With time, your breathing stopped seeming so loud and you stopped noticing the temperature of the room as much. The water in your tub was exactly as warm as it’d been when you slipped inside. You realized Ominis must’ve charmed it to stay that way. He was quite a talented wizard.

You sat up a bit in the tub, leaning your head back on the edge of it, but you kept your eyes closed. You weren’t ready to take in visual stimuli again just yet. “Ominis?” you asked, pleased when the word didn’t ring in your ears.

“Yes, MC?” he replied quietly.

“Thank you. For helping me. It…it would’ve been awful to go through this alone,” you said.

There was a pause before he answered. “I’m sorry you have to go through it at all.”

You opened your eyes to look at him. “It’s not your fault,” you said. You turned, hooking your elbow over the side of the tub as you faced him. “I’m the one who convinced you to go down there.”

“Yes, but I should’ve known better,” he said sadly. “I just…I was so consumed by the need to know what happened to my aunt. I went against my better judgment. It won’t happen again.”

“Same here. I have no interest in investigating anything to do with Slytherin again,” you replied. “I hope Sebastian meant it when he said he’s done.”

“He’s never lied to me before,” Ominis said confidently. “But…if he does mention anything to you, tell me, okay?”

“I will,” you promised. To be honest, you felt like you could tell Ominis anything.

“Good,” Ominis said with a small smile, but it was quickly replaced with a look of concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” you said truthfully. “Is there another phase after this?”

Ominis pressed his mouth into a thin line. Even when upset, his features were as handsome as ever. It really wasn’t fair. “No, but this one tends to linger. You’ll feel on edge for a few days. Maybe a week, even. It tends to last longer the more times you’ve been cursed, so hopefully it’s just a few days for you,” he said, forcing a hopeful smile onto his lips.

You blinked rapidly as a thought struck you. “Did your family curse you multiple times?” you asked, aghast.

He turned his face back toward his book as he schooled his features. “Yes,” he said in a barely audible voice.

“Oh, Ominis, that’s awful!” you said. You wished you could give him a hug, but as you were naked and sopping wet, it wasn’t exactly an opportune time.

He gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s the Gaunts for you. We specialize in ‘awful.’”

“Not all of you,” you argued. “Not your aunt. Not you.”

“Recent evidence would suggest otherwise,” he said. He hung his head. “Not to mention my past mistakes.”

“But that’s just it. It was a mistake. It doesn’t define you, Ominis,” you insisted. “Do you think the rest of your family would’ve cared enough to help me?”

He scoffed. “Certainly not.”

You just waited, letting him consider the facts for himself.

He sighed as he turned back toward you. “I suppose you have a point.”

You smiled. “I know I do.”

Ominis chuckled, and it was a beautiful sound – if a bit loud at the moment.

You decided you’d soaked long enough and got out of the bath. You cringed as you patted yourself dry. The towel wasn’t quite sandpaper like your clothes had been before, but your skin still felt raw. “How long until clothes feel normal again?” you asked, hoping the answer was soon.

“It all progresses together, so it’ll take a few days,” Ominis said with an apologetic grimace.

You let out a groan. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

He held out his hand. “Here. Give me your clothes.”

You wrapped the towel around yourself before scooping up your uniform and padding over to him. You set the outfit in his open hand.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said. Standing so close now, you could see the blush spread over his cheeks.

Your face flushed, too, when you realized you could’ve just levitated the clothes over. You cringed again, but at yourself this time.

Ominis waved his wand as he uttered an unfamiliar incantation. He handed your outfit back to you. It was silky smooth against your skin. It took what was left of your good sense not to drop your scratchy towel and change immediately. You shuffled off to the other side of the room to get dressed.

“That’s so much better!” you gushed once you’d donned the silk ensembled. “Thank you, Ominis.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’m happy to help you with anything. I mean, anytime! I’m happy to help anytime.”

As you walked back over to his window seat, you could tell he was still blushing. You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll help you with anything, too,” you replied.

“Yeah?” he asked with a hopeful expression.

You chewed your lip, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you looked down at him. You raised a hand to cup his cheek, and his chin tilted up slightly as his eyes drifted shut. You leaned down, brushing your lips softly against his. In your current state, his lips felt a bit rough but pleasantly warm on yours. Nevertheless, the tender kiss sent a jolt of excitement through you. “Yeah,” you replied.

His tongue flicked out over his lips, and he smirked up at you.

The door rattled as someone tried to enter the locked lavatory. The sudden noise made you jump back.

“Ugh! This is the second time this week!” a muffled but clearly frustrated voice grumbled from the other side.

“Come one, let’s use the one upstairs,” another, much more defeated, voice replied.

“We should probably get moving,” you said, unable to stop the grin that graced your lips.

Ominis chuckled. “Yes, I suppose we should,” he agreed.

You both made your way toward the door. Ominis was much more graceful in the dim lighting than you were, and you almost stumbled right into one of the empty tubs. Fortunately, Ominis either didn’t notice or politely pretended not to. He turned to you right in front of the door, his fingers resting on the handle. He shifted nervously between his feet.

“Once you’re feeling like yourself again, would you like to get dinner with me at the Three Broomsticks?” he asked with an endearingly anxious expression.

You beamed at him. “I’d like that very much.”

He grinned as he pulled the door open for you. “It’s a date, then.”

The first time you heard Ominis speak Parseltongue, you’d found it to be almost antithetical. It had sounded so bizarre coming out of his mouth, so different from the gentlemanly manner in which he most often spoke. Yet the strength of his snakelike voice sounded somehow familiar, and the way his sighing, hissing words wrapped around you felt like sinking into a warm bath.

“It worked!” you’d exclaimed, hoping your voice wasn’t trembling. “Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.”

Minutes later you’d writhed on the floor in unimaginable pain and all thoughts of Ominis’ potentially disreputable talent had flown from your mind. In fact, you’d been so rattled from being on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse that it took several days for you to recall that you were no longer the sole member of your little trio with a rare gift.

A month later you’d asked Sebastian about it while you were studying for Charms, lazily levitating stacks of books while he had been pouring over Salazar Slytherin’s spellbook.

“What does being a Parselmouth mean?” you asked him curiously.

“Means you can talk to snakes,” he replied, half listening. “Understand them, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that, thanks.”

Sebastian looked up from his book with a skeptical expression on his face. “Then what exactly are you asking?”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know, I just… Ominis made it sound like it was a bad thing, to be known as a Parselmouth. Like it’s given him a bad reputation. Why is that?”

Carefully closing his spellbook, Sebastian sits back and considers his words carefully before continuing.

“Well, the answer to that is right in front of you,” he says, gesturing to the tattered book on the table before him. “As Ominis said, most Parselmouths are direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and whether it’s warranted or not, he’s a controversial figure.”

“Sure,” you agree. “But… does Ominis speak Parseltongue much? How would anyone even know?”

“I think most people just assume,” Sebastian replies with a shrug. “His brothers spoke it, and he’s told me that they speak it more regularly at his home. Many Gaunts have chosen to keep a snake rather than an owl or any sort of conventional animal.”

You nod slowly. “Have you heard him speak it before that night in the Scriptorium?”

“A handful of times,” he admits. “Sometimes he’ll slip up if he’s especially angry or frustrated. I’ve also heard him speaking it in his sleep on occasion.”

Eventually, the conversation shifts to the spellbook and you once again forget about Ominis’ rare skill – this time for nearly two years.

By your seventh year, Ominis has learned about your ancient magic abilities, and your friendship has grown from one of rueful kinship to genuine affection. Nevertheless, he still seems to keep so much of himself guarded, even as you’ve shared so many of your worries and insecurities as you’ve grown into your role as the only living Keeper of your ability.

(It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen achingly in love with him along the way.)

These days you spend most nights studying with him and Sebastian. Usually, you’re eager to soak up the years of knowledge they’d accrued before you’d started school at Hogwarts, but tonight you find yourself distracted.

“Are you listening to me?” Ominis suddenly snaps, and you glance up from where you’d been reading the same paragraph over and over.

Ominis looks annoyed, and to his point, you certainly hadn’t been listening. You’ve both been sprawled out on the floor of the Undercroft for hours now revising for Potions. Sebastian had called it a night shortly before dinner, leaving the two of you to continue pouring over theory textbooks in preparation for Professor Sharp’s famously lethal end-of-term exams.

“Y-yes, sorry,” you stutter. “What were you saying?”

In your defense, winter has arrived in the Highlands and the stone floor of Ominis’ hideaway has cooled you to the bone. The weak flame flickering beneath your shared cauldron isn’t enough to pull you out of your daydreams about a nice warm bed, some cozy blankets, and perhaps someone to share it with…

(Someone who can whisper secret serpentine words against your skin, chasing your goosebumps lower and lower beneath the covers…)

“Again?” Ominis asks, more disappointed than angry this time. “You can’t focus on my words for a full minute before slipping into some reverie?”

Merlin, if only he knew that focusing on his words wasn’t the problem at all.

“I’m sorry, Ominis,” you whine. “But it’s getting late, it’s freezing down here, and we missed dinner…”

“You said you’d help me,” he reminds you, perhaps a bit vulnerably. “The exam is tomorrow afternoon, and my Draught of Living Death is still curdling.”

You groan pathetically and rub your eyes. “Ominis, you’re a dear friend, and I simply adore you, but you’re bloody rubbish at Potions. Perhaps we should take a break for the night.”

Ominis’ jaw clenches while he stirs his (admittedly lumpy-looking) brew.

“Ominis?” you ask hesitantly. “...I apologize if I was harsh, but–”

“Don’t,” he interjects. “Just… stop talking. Clearly, you’re no longer interested in helping me, so you might as well go back to your common room for the night.”

Sighing, you shift closer to where he sits cross-legged on the stone floor and gently rest a hand on top of his knee. You know how challenging Potions has been for him, especially lately; N.E.W.T.-level draughts are challenging enough when one can confirm that the brew they’ve already spent hours preparing has progressed to the appropriate color.

“I think you need to take a break,” you say softly. “You’re making yourself too frustrated, Ominis.”

You watch as a bit of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders seeps away as his head hangs gently. As his fingers nervously twitch in his lap, he takes a slow, measured breath and lets his eyes fall closed.

« I need to do this correctly, even just once, » he says. « Then I’ll be able to sleep. »

You suspect he doesn’t even realize he hadn’t spoken English until you sharply pull your hand back with a gasp.

“Wh-what… did I, um,” he stammers. “I didn’t… say that the proper way, did I?”

“Well, er – you hissed it,” you say carefully. “That… that was Parseltongue again, wasn’t it?”

Ominis carefully nods. Your stomach clenches when you notice him hunch in on himself as if he’s ashamed of what he’s done.

“It’s okay!” you quickly tell him. “I, um. I haven’t heard you speak Parseltongue since fifth year, and – and I don’t understand it, obviously, b-but it’s alright if you want to use it.”

You trail off lamely and try to rest your hand on his knee once more, but he nudges it away.

“I apologize,” he says hollowly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

A wave of nausea rolls over you as you watch him duck his face and turn away from you – not so that he can’t see you, mind, but that you won’t see him.

“Omins,” you sigh. “Please, you – you haven’t scared me, I promise you.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he counters in a deceptively soft voice. “I can tell, you know. Your heart is racing, you’ve gone warm all over… You want to run away. It’s only natural, when one is frightened. I would know.”

You swallow audibly and once more attempt to rest your hand on his thigh, and this time he allows you.

“I’m not scared,” you insist, and as true as your words are, you almost wish you were lying to him.

You think it’s probably less shameful than the truth, which is that Ominis’ brief Parseltongue outburst has your heart racing with desire, not fear.

“Then why…?” he asks before eventually trailing off.

“I find it fascinating,” you tell him softly as you trace your fingertips along the seam of his trousers. “It’s… compelling, Ominis. Perhaps a bit enticing.”

“Enticing?” he repeats softly. “You feel, er.. compelled by my Parseltongue?”

You shyly shrug before remembering a non-verbal answer won’t suffice. “I suppose I do.”

The both of you are silent for several long moments. The only sound that can be heard in the Undercroft is Ominis’ sickly bubbling potion, until he finally asks you, “May I kiss you?”

You hesitate for merely a beat, just to let your mind catch up, but before you can answer Ominis repeats himself in Parseltongue: « May I kiss you? »

This time, your non-verbal answer of crawling astride his lap and kissing him yourself is entirely sufficient.

Ominis moans into your mouth while you grab the lapels of his uniform shirt, brazenly rocking against his lap like one of those wanton witches in Sebastian’s rather foul romance novels. His hands settle on your hips and he helps you grind down onto him until you can feel for yourself where he’s grown hard.

“Wh-what are we doing?” he asks against your lips.

He doesn’t sound scandalized, or even hesitant – rather, he sounds like he’s asking how much you’re going to let him get away with.

“Whatever we want,” you answer him breathlessly. “Ominis, I – I’ve wanted this for so long, we’ll do whatever you want.”

« Whatever I want? » he hisses, and you shiver in his lap. « What I want is to get you on your back for me, sweet girl. »

Carefully, Ominis tips you from his lap back onto the freezing tile, but just as quickly he gently pushes your shoulders back until you’re sprawled out on some abandoned Potions notes. Your skirt falls halfway up your legs and Ominis traces his fingertips along your skin until he finds the hem.

« Spread your legs for me, my love, » he hisses, sliding his hands up the insides of your thighs. « Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you here? »

His unseeing eyes flutter closed as his fingertips brush against the hem of your undergarments. You’re wet – you have been since he’d first slipped into those low, hissing tones of his – but now he knows it. He can feel it.

“Gods,” he groans. “You.. you really like to hear my Parseltongue this much?”

“It’s your voice,” you whimper, grinding your hips toward his teasing fingertips. “You… you sound different.”

“Tell me,” he demands. “How do I sound?”

Realizing that he likely sounds the same to his own ears even when speaking the ancient snake language, you bite your lip and force yourself to focus.

“You – you sound powerful,” you admit. “Like your voice is stronger, or… it’s like I can hear it in my whole body, not just my ears.”

Ominis wordlessly rewards you by firmly dragging his thumb down the length of your core through your panties. You melt into his touch; your skin feels as if it’s on fire now, and the very same icy stone floors you’d complained about not long ago now feel like a soothing balm against your skin.

“But you don’t even understand what I’m saying,” he counters, curious.

“N-no,” you whine.

« I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it, sweetheart? » he hisses. « You’re a troublesome little thing, you hardly listen to me when you can understand. »

You whimper and arch your back. “I m-might not understand Parseltongue, but I can tell when you’re teasing me.”

“Darling, I’ve barely begun to tease you,” he murmurs before leaning down and licking up the length of your body from your navel to the dip between your collarbones.

“Please, Ominis,” you beg.

« You’ve been distracting me all evening, » he continues. « I fully intend to have just as much fun playing with you, since you seem to enjoy driving me mad. »

While he kisses what’s sure to be an impressive bruise onto the side of your neck, Ominis slides your panties down your legs.

“I want you inside me,” you confess.

« You want the first time I take you to be on this dirty stone floor? » he asks lazily. « Are you that desperate to be fucked, sweetheart, or have I made you wait too long and driven you mad? »

You groan frustratedly as he starts to kiss his way down your body, pointedly ignoring your canting hips. “Ominis, I’m begging, please say you’ll touch me.”

Ominis presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your hipbone. « Don’t fret, my love. How could I refuse such a tempting offer from such a beautiful, albeit slightly mad woman? »

By the time he traces the tip of his tongue along the crease of your hip, you realize where he’s headed. An irreverent array of babble spills from your lips while you attempt to grind impossibly closer to his face, but he places his hands over your hips and keeps you firmly planted against the stone floor before he presses his tongue flat against your cunt.

If he were still speaking Parseltongue into your skin, you’d never know. Any words of praise or kindly teasing that spilled from his lips were drowned out by a litany of curses you’d never utter in front of a man like Ominis in any other setting.

“That’s it, my lovely girl,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh. « Your cunt is so wet for my tongue, and it’s even sweeter than you are. »

He’s switching between English and Parseltongue so easily that you can’t be sure he’s even doing it on purpose anymore, and you couldn’t possibly say which you prefer more. Being fully aware of every filthy word he says is a dream, but is it as delicious as not knowing what he’s saying as he utters secret confessions inches from your skin?

You don’t bother spending much time considering it while you lie back and let him lick you open. All you can think about is his tongue on your skin, pushing inside you, savoring every inch of your body while he learns you by touch and by taste.

That’s what he’s doing, after all – learning you. He’ll get you off, of course he will, but that’s not why he’s bent over between your legs with your calves thrown over his shoulder.

“Ominis,” you groan. “I need you in me, I… I need you.”

He presses a deceptively sweet kiss to your sensitive clit before he asks, “Is that so? I thought you liked my Tongue, and now it’s not enough for you?”

“Don’t tease me,” you plead. “I know you want me just as badly.”

While Ominis had been coming up for air between burying his face between his thighs, you’d been able to see just how affected he is – you aren’t alone in your eagerness, you can be sure of it.

« Right as always, you are, » he hisses. « Perhaps you don’t understand my words, but you can sense my desire, can’t you? »

He grinds his hard cock against your inner thigh to punctuate his words and you whine pathetically.

“Take me, take me, take me,” you chant while he sits back to undo his trousers and push them down just enough to free himself. You realize he intends to stay fully clothed while he takes you apart, and you shiver against the cold floor.

When he finally sinks inside, you fall helplessly silent.

Every ounce of focus you have is spent on relaxing your body, opening up for him as he buries himself inside you. He’s almost ruthless in his endeavor to fully seat himself in you despite his intimidating length. Save a few breathless not-quite-whines, you’re quiet beneath him.

« Nothing to say, darling? » he hisses at first, and then in a softer voice he asks, “Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

“N-no, it’s good,” you moan. “Please… keep talking to me.”

“You want me to talk to you, hm?” he asks, grinding in until the flat part of his pelvis brushes against yours. « Do you need a distraction? You’re taking me so well, my angel. »

He starts to fuck you in earnest with a slow, careful rhythm to keep your bare skin from catching along the worn stones beneath your back. As he thrusts inside you, he keeps talking in that low, hissing tone. Soon you realize even his words match the rhythm of his body, rising and falling with his motions.

« Feels so good… Waited so long… I can’t stop, please don’t ask me to stop… »

His back feels feverishly warm to the touch while you drag your hands down from his shoulder blades to the back of his hips. In the years since you’d first heard the snakeline sound of Parseltongue fall from his lips, he’s grown taller and his musculature has changed into that of a lithe, well-built man. Now the strength of that voice suits the body from which it emanates, and both have combined to keep you firmly pinned to the floor beneath their might.

You cling to him as he fucks you harder. You feel so close already, tumbling toward the edge of pleasure beneath him as his serpentine words glide across your skin.

When you come around him, you hear him whisper your name in Parseltongue – it’s the same, you think, but softer, and sweeter.

« When I come inside you, » he hisses just above a whisper. « I want you to keep every last drop inside for me. Will you, my darling? »

“Ominis!” you wail.

“Fuck – fuck,” he gasps, and seconds later you feel the mess he's made inside you threaten to spill out with every slow, greedy thrust in his post-orgasmic haze.

“N-no, stop,” you whimper, and he immediately goes still.

“What is it?” he asks, his English crisp and clear.

You shift shyly beneath him and whisper, “Don’t… don’t keep going. I want to keep it inside for now, and – and when you move, it, um…”

Merlin, you don’t have the words to say you’re just as greedy as he is – you want to stay full of him, just as he’d asked in that ancient, indecipherable tongue.

Ominis presses soothing kisses to your face while you wrap your legs around his waist to hold him in place. His lips brush across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your jaw.

“Of course, darling,” he whispers. “I’ll stay right here.”

“Really?” You ask, a warm hand landing on his thigh that he tries not to startle (or fluster) at as he feels you turn towards him on the bench the two of you were currently occupying. “Perhaps you ought to come with me next time, I’ll show it to you.”

He smiles against his better judgement, because he’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you, and he’d love for you to guide him about much of the Highlands like a well trained crup. But he still couldn’t see, and you still didn’t know. 

“I…would very much like that.” He says honestly, weighing his next words carefully as he tries not to visually mourn the loss of your hand on his knee. “You’re welcome to show it to me but, well, I’d not be able to see it.” 

He’s met with a beat of silence that has him resisting the urge to start feeling around him to confirm you - and your hand - hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. 

“You’d not be able to see it?”

He feels something within him unclench at the sound of your voice, though his body remains tense. “No, I… well, honestly, I’m surprised you’ve not noticed before but, I cannot see.” 

“You cannot see.” You repeat, though not in question, but rather confirmation. He wishes more than ever that he could see, feeling terribly vulnerable and self conscious as he imagines your eyes scrutinising him. Judgemental eyes are not a new sensation for Ominis, but it burns deeper simply because they’re yours.

”Not at all.” He confirms, a self deprecating smile on his lips. “I’m completely blind, I have been since birth.” 

You’ve gone quiet again, and Ominis has the sudden urge to fill the silence with rambling explanations, as if you were owed the story of Ominis’ sight, or lack thereof.

”My parents - blood purists and dark magic enthusiasts - were concerned that I or my mother had been cursed while she was expecting me. But no spell or potion was able to correct my vision; and many, many were tried. I rely heavily on my wand to navigate the world around me; I’m not sure how it knew to do so, but I believe the Ollivander’s wholeheartedly when they say that the wand is sentient. The wand chooses the wizard, and all that.”

”I see.” Is all you say in response, and Ominis prays that, Merlin willing, the ground will simply open up and swallow him whole. 

“I…well…that’s why my eyes look the way they do.” He continues, turning slightly in the direction of your voice. “Sebastian has told me they’re…foggy.”

”I just thought they were beautiful.” You admit quickly, and Ominis’ head actually rears back at your quick, simple deliverance of a statement that sends his heart into orbit. 

“Beautiful?” He asks incredulously, voice cracking almost painfully prompting him to clear his throat.

“Very.” You agree, and he can hear the smile in your voice which has his shoulders relaxing and a smile of his own painting his features. 

“Did you never wonder why I don’t make eye contact with you?” He asks around a laugh, relaxing even further when you return it. 

“I figured you were perhaps shy; making eye contact is difficult for some people.” 

He hums in acknowledgement. “Or impossible for others.” 

“I suppose so.” You chuckle, pausing before your hand is on his knee again. “May I?”

And he doesn’t know what you’re asking his permission for, but he gives it to you anyway; nodding his head which finds your hand leaving his leg and appearing - feather light touch - on his cheek, your other hand doing the same on the opposite side of his face. 

You tilt his head up - assumingly to point directly at you -  as your thumbs brush soothingly along the skin under his eyes. They flutter closed on their own volition, his lashes dusting along your thumb before they open up again. 

And whether it was his wand sensing it, your magic expressing it, or just simple intuition, Ominis could feel the smile adorning your face. 

“Beautiful.” You whisper, and Ominis finds that he can’t help but believe you.

he'll forget what day valentine's day falls on but somehow knows you've been quieter than usual for the past three days and keeps finding excuses to stay close to you because he knows something's bothering you.

bf!toji who is unbelievably touchy once he's comfortable with you. he just always has to be touching you somehow. a hand on your lower back, your legs thrown over his lap, his fingers tangled with yours while you're walking.

he's not even aware he's doing it half the time. if you move away, he'll unconsciously pull you back. if you're sitting beside him, he'll tug you against his side. it's become such a habit that when you're not around, he catches himself reaching for you and gets irritated afterward.

bf!toji who claims he hates shopping but suddenly becomes very invested when you're buying clothes. he'll sit in a chair looking bored out of his mind for twenty minutes then you'll walk out of the fitting room and suddenly he's paying attention. "turn around."

"what?"

"lemme see."

he acts like he's judging the outfit critically but really he's wondering how one person manages to look good in literally everything.

bf!toji who has a reputation for being intimidating until people see how he acts around you. suddenly this terrifying six-foot-something man is carrying your purse because your shoulder hurts. holding your umbrella, letting you steal all the blankets, walking on the outside of the sidewalk automatically.

bf!toji who looks at you differently when he thinks you aren't paying attention. that's the biggest giveaway. his usual expression is relaxed, lazy, sometimes amused. but when you're distracted? reading. talking. focused on something else. his face softens completely like he's still trying to figure out how someone like you ended up in his life.

and every time you catch him staring? he immediately looks away and acts annoyed. "what?"

"you were looking at me."

"and?"

"why?"

"...because you're standing there." he's a terrible liar.

bf!toji who acts tough when he's sick right up until the moment you start taking care of him then suddenly he's the most dramatic man alive.

"i'm dying." "it's a cold, baby." "tell my story." "to who?" "the world."

five minutes later he's asleep with his head in your lap while you're playing with his hair.

bf!toji who never expected to become the kind of man who plans a future around another person but then you happened and now every decision quietly includes you.

every apartment he considers. every job. every plan. without even realizing it, he stopped thinking in terms of me and started thinking in terms of us which is probably the most serious proof of love he'll ever give.