#two weeks max

Ominis was there, seated by the small table, his wand emitting its soft, rhythmic red pulse as he focused on a stack of parchment. He jolted slightly—or rather, his head snapped toward the entrance—as she approached.

"Who’s—?" he began, his voice tense until he recognized the specific cadence of her footsteps. His posture relaxed, though his eyebrows remained arched in genuine surprise. "You! I had almost forgotten the sound of your footsteps, and I certainly wasn’t expecting to find you venturing into the shadows tonight. I’d begun to think the sunlight of the courtyard had finally claimed you entirely."

"I just needed to breathe, Ominis," she admitted, sinking into the chair opposite him.

Ominis stayed silent for a moment, his sightless gaze fixed in her direction with a gentlemanly gravity. "May I ask a question? One that might overstep?"

"When have you ever cared about politely overstepping?" she said with a mischievous side smile.

Ominis offered a faint, tired smile. "Fair point. Tell me... is Prewett treating you properly? Truly? A man of his lineage is taught to cherish his 'possessions,' but I find his brand of care to be particularly... loud."

She hesitated, the lie rising to her lips from muscle memory. "He’s wonderful, Ominis. Really. He’s thoughtful and sweet." She paused, the weight of the cage pressing against her ribs.

"But…" she hesitated, weighing whether to burden him with her growing unease. Ominis was, after all, her most trusted confidant next to Sebastian, and by far the more level-headed of the two—the calm, rational anchor of their often-chaotic trio. "Lately, it feels like he's trying to curate me," she whispered. "My dress, my speech... he says it's just to impress his family, to ensure the introduction is smooth." She hesitated, the names of Ominis and Sebastian hovering on her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to admit that Leander didn't approve of them, either. "He's decided lately that I need protection. He sees my dreams of being an Auror and those 'adventures' in the Highlands as nothing but unnecessary risks. But I believe he’ll eventually realize I don’t need protecting. He’ll change once he realizes I’m going to be fine after I've made a good impression on his family; he just worries."

Ominis’s expression remained unreadable, but his silence felt like a quiet disagreement. "People rarely change to fit the person they are trying to mold, my dear. They only squeeze harder."

The heavy thud-clack of the secret entrance opening interrupted them. Sebastian practically stumbled in, his breathing heavy, his leather backpack slumping off one shoulder. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were bright with a manic sort of triumph.

"You're here!" he exclaimed, his gaze locking onto her with a sudden, intense heat. "Perfect timing. I was woodenly worried I'd have to drink this with only Ominis for company, and we all know how much of a buzzkill he can be."

"What is in that bag, Sebastian?" Ominis asked, adopting a tone of theatrical exhaustion that was only half-faked. "It sounds like you're carrying a small armory."

Sebastian swung the bag onto the table with a melodic clink-clink. He pulled up a spare chair, the wood scraping harshly against the stone floor, and reached in to pull out two dark, amber bottles. "The first official purchase of Sallow the Heir," he announced, a proud, crooked grin on his face. "Premium Firewhisky. Picked it up on my way back from London after a long meeting with the goblins and tons of paperwork with a bit of that inheritance gold. Figured if I’m going to be a man of means, I should at least taste like one."

"Firewhisky? On a Tuesday?" she asked, a laugh bubbling up.

"It’s a celebration of rebellion," Sebastian countered, uncorking the first bottle. The sharp, spicy scent of cinnamon and liquid fire immediately filled the air.

The first sip was a localized inferno in the throat, but the second brought a blooming, reckless warmth. The next hour became a blurred descent into chaos. The bottles passing between them as the heat of the alcohol began to melt the weeks of tension. Sebastian was at his most charming, weaving ridiculous tales of his 'banker meetings' and the crumbling ruin of his parents' old house. He’d even had a worker out to estimate the repairs, only to find the cost would swallow nearly every Galleon he’d just inherited—a risk he couldn't afford to take. Graduation loomed like a specter; at Hogwarts, his every need was met, but soon he would have to face the reality of feeding himself and maintaining the Feldcroft home. It was the only suitable place he had left to live with any shred of decency, and the thought of it falling into further disrepair while he struggled to find his footing made his stomach turn.

As the night wore on, the initial, polite distance between their chairs began to dissolve. Seeking the solid, radiating heat of his body against the damp chill that crept through the Undercroft, she found herself shifting her seat. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she moved her chair away from her original spot opposite Ominis, sliding it along the stone floor until she was tucked into the corner of the table right beside Sebastian.

By the time the first bottle was drained, Ominis was unrecognizable. His usually pristine hair was a chaotic mess from how many times he’ve run his hands through it in drunken frustration at Sebastian’s jokes. He sat slumped on his chair, his chin resting heavily in his hand, his voice a low, melodic mumble.

"Sebastian," Ominis slurred, the syllable stretching as he let out a soft, uncharacteristic giggle. "You're... you're a menace. A literal hazard to my health and my reputation."

"Oh, hush," Sebastian teased, nudging Ominis’s shoulder across the table.

"No, no, you truly are," Ominis insisted, pointing a wavering finger at her as he let out a sharp, liquor-laden hiccup. "A hazard to my peace, a hazard to your friend’s... delicate relationship... and a hazard to every other poor girl in this damned castle." He chuckled, the sound thick and lopsided.

"Maybe he's not wrong," she added, her voice bubbly as she played along with Ominis’s drunken assessment.

"You've become quite sassy in your old age, my friend," Sebastian countered, his eyes flickering toward her for a heartbeat before he pointedly looked back at Ominis, clearly wishing for a subject change. "Tell us, Ominis. What have you been doing with your spare time now that I've been busy with... well, with girls?"

Ominis let out a soft, mysterious hum. "Things," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips as he tried to look dignified while swaying. "Important... Gaunt things. You wouldn't... understand." He tried to stand, stumbled, and eventually gave up on the table, choosing instead to sprawl out on the small, moth-eaten sofa in the corner. He was asleep within seconds, his breathing deep and even.

She watched him from her seat, a soft chuckle escaping her. "Do you think we’re a bad influence on him, Sebastian?"

Sebastian looked over at his friend, his expression softening into a rare, genuine fondness. "I’ve never seen him sleep so deeply," he whispered. "He’s always so tense, waiting for a letter or a lecture. How could giving him a few hours of peace be bad for him?"

"I suppose you're right," she said, her laugh soft and bubbly from the firewhisky. She glanced at Ominis’s peaceful face and shook her head, the sharp edges of the last weeks finally starting to melt away into a hazy, golden warmth. "Though I don't know if I'd say you've never seen him sleep this deeply. Have you ever actually looked at him during one of Binns' lectures? He’s practically radiant in his slumber while the rest of us are fighting for our lives against the boredom."

Turning her gaze back to Sebastian, the air in the Undercroft suddenly felt dangerously thin. She realized with a start that the space between them had vanished; her chair was now pressed right against his, their shoulders nearly brushing in the newfound closeness. The small table, which had seemed so expansive an hour ago, now felt like a narrow, fragile bridge. The second bottle of Firewhisky sat half-empty between them, its amber contents glowing like a trapped soul in the torchlight, but it was no longer enough to fill the shrinking gap. In the wake of Ominis’s departure, the silence was no longer empty—it hummed with a new, jagged energy that made her skin prickle.

"So," she began, "how are things with 'the girls'?" she asked, referencing Ominis’s earlier comment with a playful arch of her eyebrow.

"It isn't 'girls,' plural. It’s just Nerida," he said with a feigned tone of annoyance, though he was clearly loving having his friend back—pushy, sassy comments and all. The tension that had been building between them felt momentarily lighter, anchored by their old, familiar rhythm.

"Well, I imagine the Mermish research is keeping you very... occupied."

Sebastian took a slow, deliberate sip of his Firewhisky, the heat of the liquid hitting his throat. "Everything is fine…" he said shortly. "She’s certainly dedicated to her cause."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't mention that he was already growing bone-weary of the endless monologues about underwater acoustics and fish-scale variations. Any intellectual connection he’d thought they shared was now starting to seem like nothing more than her weird, unsettling obsession.

A short, heavy silence followed, the air thick with the unsaid.

Sebastian stared into his glass, the amber liquid swirling like the very thoughts he was trying to drown. "We’d be terrible together, you know," he whispered, the Firewhisky finally stripping away the last of his pride to voice the mantra he’d been repeating to himself for weeks. Ever since their talk in the Undercroft, he’d used those words—the very ones she had thrown out so casually—as a shield to keep his own heart at bay. He hadn't been sure if she was joking or deadly serious when she’d said it, but he had latched onto the idea like a lifeline, a way to convince himself that the barrier between them was for the best. "As a couple. An absolute disaster."

She looked at him, their proximity making the heat of the Firewhisky feel like a fever, and managed a husky laugh. "Oh, the worst," she agreed playfully, her cheeks blushing.

Sebastian leaned in, his face flushed, the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood radiating off him. "I’d spend all my time dragging you into tombs," he said, his eyes dropping to her lips, "and you’d spend all your time trying to save me from myself. We wouldn’t last a month."

"Two weeks," she countered, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm, her eyes half-lided. "Max."

They were inches apart. She could feel the radiating warmth of his body, a sharp contrast to the cool air of the Undercroft draft at her back. There was no "safety" here. There was no bright, Ministry-approved future. There was only the taste of the forbidden and a thrill that felt like lightning trapped in a bottle.

"Leander would have a heart attack," Sebastian breathed, his gaze flicking back up to meet hers. There was a raw, undeniable hunger in his eyes—not just for her, but for the version of her that belonged in the dark.

"Leander isn't here," she whispered.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol or the weeks of being "molded," but she reached out, her fingers grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. The attraction was inevitable, a physical pull that felt like Ancient Magic itself—destructive, powerful, and utterly out of her control.

Sebastian didn't move to close the gap, not yet. Her hand on the back of his neck felt electrical, a jolt that burned far more fiercely than the Firewhisky ever could, carving a hollow, aching hole right through his chest. The heat from her touch radiated through him until his skin felt feverish, and he bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, a desperate attempt to stay grounded. He just hovered there, his breath ghosting against her lips, letting her feel the full weight of the choice. It wasn't love, but it was something much more dangerous. It was the thrill of the fall.

She leaned in further, her eyes fluttering shut as the world spun in a hazy, amber blur. For a second, Sebastian’s heart nearly stopped, his hands reaching out to steady her, certain that the choice had finally been made. But as she moved closer, her head didn't find his lips; it slumped heavily, and with a soft, content sigh, she settled against his shoulder.