Chapter Text
Year Seven; Term One (Autumn)
Sebastian fiddled with the dainty silver cufflinks on his shirtsleeves. They were far too grand and even more so outrageously antiquated, the swirling snake-like patterns almost entirely overcome by dustings of rust, and each felt like ice as they grazed against his skin. He wasn’t particularly fond of his suit jacket’s seamwork either, for it nearly made him appear wholly dishevelled, loose strands jutting out in all directions, the collar somewhat askew. He had fetched it from the bottom of an old trunk stashed beneath his bed back in Feldcroft, and believed it might’ve been his father’s at some point, particularly since it smelled faintly of a familiar perfume. Unfortunately, he was not a young man made of riches, and his refusal to accept charity from any of his colleagues left him with little choice other than to adorn an assortment of mismatched, muskily-scented garments. At the very least, he had tried to slick back the chestnut waves atop his head, although such an effort had simply made him aware that he was in dire need of a haircut.
Still, he was rather handsome, and as he had grown older, the fullness of his face had slowly dissipated to reveal elegantly sharp cheekbones. The freckles that danced across his nose were oddly charming, and directed the attention of most towards unblemished skin that was almost always carrying a healthy pink glow with it. Truly, even the heinous nature of his attire was not enough to distract onlookers from the allure of his naturally splendid features, nor would any pair of hideously oversized shoes ever shuffle so loudly that one might stare at the ground rather than at his perpetual, mischievous smirk.
“Somehow, I just know that you’ve got a look on your face that I wouldn’t like,” Ominis muttered. Unlike Sebastian, he was cloaked in threads of only the highest calibre, of dazzling gold splashed against a black backdrop that appeared much like a night sky touched by hundreds of twinkling stars. His white-blonde strands were unsurprisingly immaculate, not a single hair flying astray. The yellow chandeliers dangling above filled his glassy eyes with vibrancy, transforming an eerie pale blue into a canvas of flickering colours, a reflection of the thoughts encapsulated within his mind. Although he lacked sight, he had never struggled to pair clothes or accessories perfectly, and as was the norm, he stood tall and proud like a lantern in the darkness, a ray of incandescence amongst a room otherwise overpowered by students encompassing themes of staleness and normality. It was not his blindness that set him apart from the rest, but his unrivalled beauty.
Sebastian tugged at a stray thread until it broke off and fluttered away, carried by a nearly imperceptible breeze. It was not unlikely that the Great Hall’s incessant gelidness was a result of a draft sneaking through every miniscule crevasse. No matter how magnificent magic had the potential to be, it never seemed powerful enough to warm this space, to induce blazing flames capable of diminishing the nippiness. He breathed out, a faint cloud of trapped, dwindling heat spiralling around his face. “I’m finally going to do it, Ominis. Tonight is the night.”
“Do what?” Ominis questioned, a single eyebrow cocked. He felt admittedly apprehensive, for his best friend of many years had always clung tightly to the tendency to cause trouble, to deviate from a path of righteousness and simplicity. Although, it had been quite a while since either of them had found themselves stuck in an abyss of transcendent danger, so Ominis supposed it was about time he was forced to endure a bout of unrest again. He was not one to stumble towards a problem without complaint, or with an absence of vigilance, but he seemed unable to turn his back on Sebastian, and knew, deep down, that he would travel to the very fiery pits of hell and back if it meant keeping him safe.
The Great Hall had been transformed into a temporary venue of floating candles and stony walls peppered by splashes of colour and glitter, and an assortment of older students stood rigidly around its outskirts, nearly forming a flawless ring, a circle around the space intended for swaying hips and enthusiastically tapping feet. Sebastian was not oblivious to the trepidation etching its way into Ominis’ features, but he was too preoccupied with a desire to suppress his own anxieties to offer any kind of reassurance. His eyes - irises a shade not unlike his hair, brown disrupted by occasional flecks of dazzling amber and gold - searched the crowd around him madly. He recognised a few girls from his year level, all in exquisite gowns of ruffles and lace, but none lovely enough to grab his attention, none worthy of a pirouette with the handsome young Slytherin. His pupils darted back and forth, scanning the masses, observing all of the faces nearby over and over as though they might change should he dare to look again.
And then, he saw her, the halo of gold around her head as luminous as the moon.
Sebastian inhaled loudly enough to startle Ominis, and did not breathe back out until he received a rather unkind reminder, a tightened fist pounding against his back. He could feel the warmth crawling up into his cheeks, the electricity that sparked equal parts discomfort and excitement in his body, the bubbling of his blood. Almost instantaneously, the palms of his hands were slick with a sweaty sheen, glistening beneath the harshness of a dozen or so chandeliers. Smiling nervously, he turned to Ominis and leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’m going to ask Octavia to dance with me.”
Ominis frowned. “And why in Merlin’s name would you do that?” he asked. His words erupted in a meaner fashion than he had intended, his tone cold, but he was merely overcome by bewilderment. Octavia had been the third (and final) member of their tight knit friendship group for the past couple of years, and he had never really suspected that there might have been some stronger, more romantic emotions involved - at least, not on Sebastian’s behalf. Ominis himself, on the other hand, had certainly grown increasingly more flustered in Octavia’s presence as time flew by, as though the nearing conclusion of puberty had unlocked a new set of feelings, a greater, deeper sense of understanding and desire. He had heard whispers of her beauty, and he supposed that she possessed a voice that was pleasantly sweet, but truly, he was enamoured with her unrivalled wit and stubbornness, and with her unrelenting determination to help anyone and everyone around her. Perhaps it was no surprise that Sebastian had recognised such favourable traits, too.
“You must swear to me that you will not repeat this to anyone, Ominis,” Sebastian responded, somewhat breathless. He swiped his hands over his pants, desperate to dry them before he utilised one as a gesture of invitation.
“I cannot say for certain that I will hold my tongue. I suppose it depends on what it is you’re about to say.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, but still, choosing to have faith in his best friend, dipped his head and lifted a hand to conceal the movement of his lips. “I think, perhaps, that I may fancy Octavia,” he said, the words so quiet they bordered on unintelligible.
“You think ?” Ominis countered, rather loudly. He was certain that Octavia deserved far more than emotions of ambiguity, and was not exactly prepared to relinquish a grasp on his own infatuation under such a pretence. Although it was not uncommon that he should clash with Sebastian, he hadn’t really anticipated the sudden discordance of complementary feelings, and had no clue how to handle any of them. On many accounts, he supposed it would be better to keep his mouth shut, to seal his lips nice and tight so that no objections might threaten to pour out. Of course, his hammering heart was determined to illustrate the stupidity and weakness of this idea. He rarely fought for his own happiness - he didn’t know how to begin doing so, particularly when such actions might disrupt the greatest friendship he had ever possessed.
On the contrary, the bellowing thoughts bouncing around Sebastian’s mind were enough to tell him that his feelings were serious, that Octavia had somehow managed to tear his chest apart and bury down deep, lodging herself amongst the pulsing walls of his heart. There was no denying that he had known for quite some time, perhaps since the moment he had first met her, that he would not be able to resist her. He had tried, tirelessly, desperately, had tried to see the face of any other girl when he closed his eyes, but he could not rid of her, for her eyes were like an undisturbed lake in the summer, and her skin was fiery and unmarred, kissed by the sun’s warm rays. And, she had stuck by him through thick and thin, and had willingly agreed to carry his secret, to shelter his wrongdoings from the rest of the world. If not for Octavia, he would have very well wound up in Azkaban, locked away from light and laughter, left to rot in a dank grave of his own self-pity. He was thankful, and equally as spellbound. If only Ominis could have witnessed the spiralling admiration in his eyes.
Before either of the two could utter another word, Octavia came traipsing over, a spectacularly incandescent smile on her face. She wore her golden locks atop her head, a few loose strands intentionally overlooked so that they might dangle gracefully, and the splendour of her olive skin was disrupted only by cascading green silk, a dress so untouched by manic patterns that it appeared captivating and refined. It was rare that she should put so much effort into her attire, since she preferred comfort to prettiness, but it was evident that she felt rather proud of the outcome on this particular night. All eyes were on her, drawn to the superb curvature of every feature like moths to a flame.
Chuckling, Octavia reached out to playfully pull at Sebastian’s jacket. She was entirely incognizant to the spontaneous stiffness of his limbs, to the tendrils of infatuation sneakily wrapping around his chest to constrict and suffocate him. “Don’t you clean up nicely?” she cooed, jokingly condescending. Their friendship had most often been built upon the sentiments of sarcasm and mischief. From the second she had laid eyes upon Sebastian, at the time seemingly no more than a curly-headed boy of fifteen with his head stuffed into a gargantuan book, she had known he would be trouble. And fun - lots, and lots of fun.
Ominis extended a hand, and without a word, Octavia took it with her own and directed it to the fabric of her dress. His soft fingertips fiddled with the silk carefully, and soon, a gentle smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, how divine. You’re surely the Belle of the ball,” he said sincerely. It was unusual to elicit a compliment from Ominis, particularly one not immediately followed up by a snarky quip to balance things out. He did wish he could glimpse upon her splendour in its purest form, in its entirety, but he supposed he didn’t really need to. He knew, without a doubt, that she was the most beautiful individual in the room.
“Did you see Gareth Weasley’s dress robes?” Sebastian questioned. Another student’s choice of attire was not exactly the topic he wished to hone in on, but he was riddled with nerves so terrible that he feared his friends might notice the paling of his face, or the clenching of his fingers. He needed to play it cool, to feign nonchalance, and there was no better way to do so than to ridicule his classmates.
Octavia smacked a hand across her mouth to suppress her laughter. Her eyes - so splendidly blue they were like tiny, glowing orbs - drifted across the alleged dance floor and settled upon a young man with flaming red hair and a ginormous, cheeky grin. The collar of his jacket was oversized and fluffy, adorned with every clashing shade of blue and green in existence, and the tips of his boots were home to two bizarre crystal ornaments, each jagged and misshapen. “The poor thing. It’s as though he killed a diricawl and wrapped its feathers around his neck.”
“Didn’t you know that slaughtering innocent creatures for fashion is the latest trend?” Sebastian retorted, words disrupted by childish chortling. He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye.
“It’s the only trend that never fails to go out of style - unfortunately,” Ominis muttered. Although those who did not know him well might have thought him rather intimidating, a young man who very seldom allowed his features to contort with happiness, he was actually quite sensitive, and detested the notion of any creature being treated as little more than an accessory. Other than his relentless rejection of the Dark Arts, the protection of magical beasts was one of the few causes he was passionately outspoken about. His friends admired him for it, and rarely ever disagreed.
Sebastian fought to drag his gaze away from Octavia, just briefly. “It seems that Professor Sharp didn’t get the memo. Or any memo at all, actually,” he said, subtly pointing. The Professor wore his usual drab clothes, an abundance of black and grey, and his expression was solemn. He walked with a slight hobble, but maintained a pace that suggested he had ventured into the Great Hall on urgent business, not to sashay or wriggle to the music. In fact, he was approaching the trio frighteningly quickly, as though a gust of wind propelled him from behind, carrying his weight so that he might flutter forward with ease. He narrowed his eyes. “For some reason, I think I might be in trouble.”
“What have you done this time?” Ominis sighed.
“Nothing. At least not intentionally,” Sebastian responded uneasily. Octavia reassuringly placed a hand atop his shoulder, and squeezed gently. This simple gesture transformed every single one of his internal organs into mush, and even if only for a second, he was able to pretend that the Professor’s twisted expression did not concern him, that there was nobody else in this enchanted room but him and the most dazzling jewel in all of Hogwarts.
Unfortunately, Sebastian was not granted a great deal of time to let his imagination run wild.
Professor Sharp came to an abrupt halt. He slowly raked a couple of stray strands away from his forehead, straightened his ancient, blotchy tie, and then pointed a look of utter disdain at the three Slytherin students lined up in front of him. He might have been handsome if he just smiled every now and then. “All of you. With me. Right now.”
Attempting to establish a facade of cute obliviousness, Ominis tilted his head to one side, and as he spoke, he ensured that his tone remained sweet and stable. Although he truthfully had no idea what was going on, nor how he could possibly be involved when he had been on his best behaviour this past year or so, he was determined to exaggerate all notions of innocence. “But Professor, if we leave now, we shan’t have a chance to dance,” he replied charmingly. He blinked a few times. Such an action was wholly unnatural to him, but he was a clever boy, one that was well aware that the simplicity of it would only further his act of sincerity.
“There’s always next year,” the Professor responded briskly.
Sebastian’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Well, actually, this is our final year at Hogwarts, so if we don’t dance no-,” he started, only to be interrupted by a sharp elbow to the ribs. Octavia glared at him intensely, willing him to be silent. She had witnessed enough conflict to sense when any efforts to evade it were futile, and Sebastian - well, he had a big mouth, and rarely knew when to shut it. He pouted in response. He didn’t mind being put in his place, but he was desperate to share an intimate moment with her, and felt like every opportunity to do so was swiftly slipping through his fingers.
“Might we ask what this is concerning, Professor?” Ominis queried. He was perfectly polite, hands clasped together in front of him, a tight-lipped smile plastered onto his face.
Professor Sharp exhaled boisterously, and carefully surveyed his surroundings, ensuring that there were no cheeky little eavesdroppers lingering nearby. Then, he turned back to the trio, an unexpected expression of melancholy darkening his eyes, making him abnormally gaunt. “Mr. Sallow, I regret to inform you that we have just received word about your sister. It would appear that she has gone missing.”
All of a sudden, a romantic dance became the very least of Sebastian’s problems.