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Ominis pressed the tip of his wand into the center of his palm and waited. It grew hot, just short of scalding, and he exhaled a weary breath. He’d found a way to determine the distinct color of his potions by channeling different levels of heat through his wand, but that didn’t make the execution of brewing them any easier. Try as he might, his skills never quite improved beyond decent to middling. Part of Ominis was privately pleased to be falling short of Professor Sharp’s high expectations, though, if only because it meant one less trait he’d inherited from his family. Salazar Slytherin was a fabled potioneer—among other things.
From the front of the classroom, he heard the ex-Auror shift, his old wooden chair creaking under the man’s slight weight. He must be finished reviewing their assignments. “And how is your potion coming along, Mr. Gaunt?”
“Utterly abysmal, sir,” Ominis answered cheerfully.
Professor Sharp sighed. “Mr. Weasley, if you’d care to join your classmate, I’m sure two of you can manage to brew an acceptable Wiggenweld Potion.”
Surprised, Ominis listened to the sound of Garreth haphazardly gathering his supplies. He knew of the Gryffindor, of course—they were in the same year, and sometimes Leander would lament about the unusual smells in the common room from Garreth’s endless potion-brewing. He’d be difficult to miss even if Ominis didn’t make a habit of knowing everyone in the school. He only wondered what Garreth knew about him, and something in the pit of his stomach twisted. If most people didn’t avoid Ominis for being a Gaunt, they underestimated him for his disability. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with either option right now, but he straightened up all the same, bracing himself.
Garreth shuffled over, dropping heavily into the empty stool nearby. Ominis decided it was best to lead with humor, so he offered a tight smile in the other boy’s direction. “I’m sorry he’s inflicted me upon you,” he said. “Terrible luck.”
“It’s alright.” Garreth’s answer was breezy, as his voice always sounded. It made Ominis wonder if he really was that unaffected by most things. “I’d prefer you over another detention with my aunt anyway.”
“Ah, yes. How terribly flattering to rate above the wrath of our Deputy Headmistress.” Garreth barked out a laugh. Feeling his cheeks grow hot, Ominis ducked his head, privately pleased he’d earned that reaction.
“Maybe Professor Sharp thinks you can straighten me out,” the Gryffindor added. “Merlin knows Aunt Matilda hasn’t managed it.”
“I rather prefer you as you are,” Ominis said. And then, feeling daring, he added, “Straight or otherwise.”
Garreth snorted. “Decidedly otherwise, thanks. And yourself?”
He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Just so.” There was no verbal response, but he caught the sound of Garreth ruffling his own hair with a short exhale. Ominis filed that information away for later. Not that it mattered where—or with whom, rather—Garreth’s interests were, it was still useful to know about him. It had the added benefit of giving him an idea, one he couldn’t act on quite yet. At least not until he learned more, so he kept to the neutral topic of Professor Weasley. “I take it your aunt doesn’t approve of your more ... creative potionswork?”
“So my reputation precedes me.” Garreth sounded pleased. That was a good sign.
“Insofar as I’m blind, not Confunded, yes. I’ve heard about your rather infamous talent for brewing.”
“Well, good. I’d hate for you not to notice me.”
Oh. Ominis felt his stomach flip. There was something in the Gryffindor’s tone, a rough quality to it that left him reeling.
He was almost disappointed when Garreth cleared his throat. “Shall we?” They worked on their assignment with minimal small talk after that, and if Ominis reached out to deliberately brush their hands together on more than one occasion, well, he was merely testing the waters. He’d always been thorough when it came to sorting out how he felt about new things, and this was no exception. Not to mention it was also useful to determine how the other party might react, and if Garreth’s fumbling with a spare vial was any indication, this could be a very interesting development indeed.
“At least it’s green,” Ominis said at length. “My last attempt turned out purple.”
“It’s—wait, how did you—”
Ominis raised his hands, the tip of his wand pressed into his palm again. “It’s a charm I developed myself. I’m able to tell what color it is by the temperature of my wand. Rather useful, if you ask me, but it hasn’t been officially sanctioned by the Ministry yet despite my best efforts.”
“You invented that?”
Lowering his hands, Ominis tilted his head away. “If you’re going to be patronizing—”
“No!” The sudden force of Garreth’s tone sent a hush over the entire class. Ominis frowned, but he waited, wondering what was happening. The Gryffindor shifted, restlessly tapping his knuckles onto the countertop. “Sorry. I meant to say I understand how it feels when people don’t appreciate what you’re working on. You’re impressive, Ominis, and you deserve to be recognized for it.”
His heart was pounding so loud Ominis wasn’t sure he’d heard Garreth clearly. But he must have, because the sentiment was so absurdly out of the realm of anything he’d anticipated from the other boy that it had to be true. Logical conclusions were funny like that.
“I ... thank you,” he managed, a bit embarrassed his voice had gone hoarse. Then, after a beat, “Likewise. Assuming you are as good as they say.”
There was a smirk in the shape of Garreth’s voice when he replied, “Take me up on it sometime and find out for yourself.”
Ominis sat very still, a bit thunderstruck. Were they … flirting? This certainly felt like flirting. He’d only ever traded quips with Sebastian, and that was different with a long-time friend, someone he trusted—or at least, had trusted. This was entirely new territory for Ominis, and for once in his life, he was too flustered to come up with a witty response.
That was just as well, because Professor Sharp was dismissing the class. They all handed over their assignments and packed up their things, which gave Ominis a moment to quiet his fluttering heart. Don’t you dare, he thought to himself viciously. The last thing he needed right now was to develop yet another ill-advised crush, not after all the trouble he’d gone through with the first one.
Ominis waited until the rest of class had filed out before trailing behind at a more sedate pace. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Sebastian was the first to leave, his quick, clomping steps followed closely behind a lighter gait that was likely the new fifth-year. Something twisted in the pit of his stomach, but he brushed it aside. What did he care who Sebastian associated with now? He told himself he was just worried about the risks they were taking, even if he knew that wasn’t entirely true.
Salazar was known to be jealous, too, his mind supplied in a vicious voice that sounded far too much like his oldest brother Marvolo. You’re exactly like the rest of us, Ominis. We just don't delude ourselves into thinking otherwise. He swallowed hard against the bite of bile that rose up in his throat, grip tightening on his wand. I’m not like you, he thought bitterly, fully aware of the fact that carrying on a silent conversation with himself was a bit mad. It didn’t matter. He’d take madness over the cold cruelty of the Gaunts any day.
Raising his wand, Ominis pushed through the door and braced himself for the noise beyond Sharp’s classroom. He’d never liked the dungeons for this reason—the lack of tapestries and carpets meant sound carried, and midday, the cacophony of voices echoed sharply through the corridor. He could already feel a headache forming behind his eyes.
Someone cleared their throat. Ominis stopped, tilting his head in that direction. “Sorry, er. Ominis?” It was Garreth. His heart leapt, which was an absurd reaction to a fellow fifth-year he barely knew.
“That’s still my name,” he said smoothly, pleased he’d managed a quip this time. Then again, it was a bad habit. At least that’s what Sebastian always said.
To his credit, Garreth cackled. “Fair enough.” A pause followed. Ominis waited, curious despite himself. “Want to walk me to Charms? You could keep me in line—make sure I don’t get into any trouble.”
That ... wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “You’re quite the enigma, Garreth,” Ominis said at length, before continuing down the corridor, expecting the Gryffindor to follow. He did.
“I try.” Garreth caught up with his brisk pace, and the two fell into step with each other easily. There was something about how seamlessly the Gryffindor seemed to fit next to him that Ominis liked—rather a lot, actually.
It wasn’t until they began their ascent up the stairs that Ominis spoke again. “Forgive me for the assumption, but I heard you were working on a new brew. Is that correct?”
Garreth stopped, a strangled noise in his throat. “Who told you about that?”
He stopped as well, already smiling. “I pay attention.”
“Sharper than you let on, aren’t you,” the Gryffindor muttered under his breath. It got louder when a passing group of students all laughed. Ominis winced a little bit, and stepped closer to Garreth, who inhaled sharply. Interesting, he thought, listening carefully to the other boy’s elevated breathing.
After a beat, Garreth continued, “It’s not fit for drinking yet, but yeah. Fizzing Whizzbeer. It should get the drinker to float for a bit, but I still need to test the new batch. Why?”
“There’s a party tonight in the Slytherin common room. I can get you in, if you like, and you can have your taste testers.”
“Right.” Garreth drew out the word. “What’s the catch? You lot don’t usually invite Gryffindors—if you ever have.”
Ominis inclined his head, acknowledging the assumption. “You’re right. I have ulterior motives that go beyond enjoying your company.” In response, Garreth snorted. That was as good an encouragement as any. “Your presence will have the added effect of discomforting someone I know.”
“Ooh. So you want me to help make them jealous.”
“I—” Ominis stopped himself, flustered. “If you must put it like that.”
“How else would you put it?”
Garreth must be smiling. He bristled. Clearly, this wasn’t going to work, and Ominis felt vaguely guilty for even trying to orchestrate it at all. Perhaps being straightforward about an alliance hadn’t been the best idea. “Do you object? Because I really don’t mind if—”
“Oh no you don’t. You’re not getting out of a date with me that easily.” Garreth sounded like he was smiling when he continued, “Tonight. You and me. Not asking any more questions in case I decide to wake up any minute now.”
As the Gryffindor wandered forward again, Ominis thought he caught Garreth mumbling something about adding this to his diary. “I didn’t realize you were so pragmatic,” Ominis admitted, trailing after the Gryffindor’s footsteps.
“I’m a businessman, Ominis. I don’t turn down fine propositions.”
“So I rate above your aunt and I make a fine proposition. You’re generous indeed,” Ominis drawled, pleased when Garreth made what could only be described as a strangled cough. At worst, this would purely be a mutually beneficial exchange, and at best, they might actually have a nice evening together. So really, there were no downsides.
They made it to Charms with minimal interruptions, though how Ominis managed to pay any attention in class was quite the feat. More often than not, he found himself listening closely to Garreth, wanting to identify and take apart all the traits that made him unique. Apparently, he was restless, shifting in his seat every few minutes when Professor Ronen lectured, and all but leaping to his feet when they were asked to participate in a demonstration. He stretched a lot, too (the popping noise made Omins wince in sympathy), and once, Garreth absently pressed a warm hand along Ominis’ shoulder blades—not to direct, but simply to touch him.
This is bad, he thought, feeling his whole face heat up. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t often that he felt this fluttering in his chest, or the warmth that lingered in the wake of someone’s touch. He rarely allowed anyone to draw this close to begin with, and Garreth offered his affection as easily as he responded to everything else. It made Ominis wonder what might truly render the Gryffindor speechless, and that line of thought distracted him through the rest of the lesson.
By the time he returned to the dungeons after dinner, the Slytherin common room was already bustling with activity. Above it all, Imelda’s sharp voice cut through the din, directing the younger students on how to properly set up silencing charms. They’d need it for the festivities later. Their house wasn’t exactly known for hosting quiet social gatherings.
There was just one more matter to deal with before he could get ready. Ominis squared his shoulders and murmured, “Oderint dum metuant,” to his wand. It shuddered briefly in his grip before turning, slowly, to the left, like a ship changing course against the pull of the tide. He followed where it led with grim resolution, the voice of his older brother growing closer with every step.
“Well, well. Look who’s decided to join us.”
“Hello, Cassian.” His voice was all tightly controlled politeness.
“Come to lord over your lowly sibling again, Ominis?” Cassian’s tone was snide, as it always was. All nasal and no warmth. “Wait here—I’ll find Delphini. I’m sure she’d love to hear another lecture.”
He sighed. While Marvolo was by far the worst of his siblings, he’d already graduated, which left Ominis with Delphini and Cassian above him as seventh and sixth years. Evander and Agrippa had already graduated, too, thank Merlin. Ominis’ time at Hogwarts had been particularly grueling when all five of them were in the castle at once, but that was only for his first two years. He shuddered to remember it, then swiftly pushed the thought aside.
“I’d like a name added to the guest list,” Ominis said, proud his voice remained even.
Cassian scoffed. “That new fifth-year’s already on here. Sallow beat you to it.”
Something in the way his brother spoke those words left a sour taste in Ominis’ mouth. “I’m inviting Garreth Weasely, actually,” he said, keeping a tight rein on his anger. It wouldn’t do to stoop to his brother’s level, especially when he was being petty like this.
He felt some measure of satisfaction, too, when Cassian was startled into momentary silence. “I’m sorry, you’re inviting who?”
“Garreth,” Ominis said slowly, as if his brother was stupid, “Weasley. He’ll be bringing the drink. I trust you can take care of the rest.” And with that, he left, smiling to himself. It was a rare occurrence to surprise any of his siblings, and given the fact that the guest list was charmed to accept any name put forward by a Slytherin, even Cassian wouldn’t be able to force it not to.
Now for the matter of preparation. He’d have the fifth-year dormitory mostly to himself, given how often Sebastian and his new best friend were out gallivanting through the castle. In my Undercroft, his mind supplied, though both guilt and annoyance followed on the heels of that thought. He’d wasted enough time stewing over the fact that Sebastian had abruptly moved on from their years-long friendship. Brooding wouldn’t change anything—he was too pragmatic to have the patience for it, and besides, Ominis was surprised to find himself looking forward to that night. Perhaps he could have a nice time and try to forget about Sebastian’s increasingly alarming insistence on uncovering Slytherin’s Scriptorium.
So he washed his face and changed into fresh robes, taking his time fixing his hair until he was satisfied with how it felt. Under his feet, he felt the vibrations of a steady drum beat rumble across the floor, heralding the arrival of Nerida Roberts. She must have started the music already, a clever bit of charmswork she’d fashioned that had made her quite popular—both with their classmates and the merfolk that drifted by, if what he’d heard was true.
By the time Ominis returned to the common room, the party was just beginning. There weren’t any students from other houses yet, which was to be expected. They did tend to start an hour or two before the designated time, giving party-goers plenty of opportunity to drift in whenever they liked.
“Ominis!”
Naturally, though, it seemed as though the new fifth-year was already eager to make an appearance. He smiled despite the flash of jealousy that bloomed in his chest. “You’re early,” Ominis pointed out, letting amusement warm his tone instead of bitterness. It was difficult to hate the transfer student, particularly when they were so well-meaning.
“Yeah,” they replied, sounding sheepish. “Sebastian said it started later, but I wanted to get here before it got too crowded. Do you know where he is?”
Shouldn’t you know where he is? Ominis thought uncharitably, but he bit back the response. “I’m sure he’ll grace us with his presence soon enough,” he said instead, keeping his tone light.
The new fifth-year snickered. “He is a bit dramatic, isn’t he?”
“To put it lightly.” As if summoned, Ominis heard the telltale sound of Sebastian’s confident strut, and he added, “Here he comes now.”
“Talking about me, are you?” There was a concerned note under all the bravado, but Ominis merely smiled in response and offered no further explanation. Let Sebastian stew in the knowledge that they were potentially trading secrets about him. He could take the hit to his ego.
Ominis tuned them both out when they proceeded to chatter excitedly between themselves. He was more interested in listening to the people around him, appreciative of the conversations that flowed all around. It wasn’t like in the corridors outside that echoed with sharp clarity, but warmer, a bright excitement that only seemed to grow with anticipation, reaching a fever pitch when Imelda Reyes raised her voice to address the room. “Alright, you lot! It’s time. Nerida, please keep the music down. I’m trying to be a proper host here.”
An excited murmur rippled through the gathered Slytherin students as the music grew hushed. The new first-year shuffled in closer to Ominis, perhaps to get a better view of the proceedings. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll see,” Sebastian replied in a bit of a sing-song tone.
True to his word, Imelda announced, “Amit Thakkar!” and a roar of approval rang out through the common room. A few students even shouted his name, much to Amit’s apparent embarrassment, as he laughed sheepishly. It was an exceptional reception for a Ravenclaw, to be sure.
He cleared his throat, then addressed the gathered crowd with, “I do believe I owe everyone a bit of lighting!” Amit must have perfected his spellwork for the occasion, because the entire common room swiftly grew dark, then shined. Ominis couldn’t see it properly, but he knew that soft, twinkling light must mean Amit learned how to mimic the ceiling of the Great Hall.
Even Sebastian made an approving noise. “He’s getting better at that.”
“Better? That was brilliant.”
“Amit’s always had a knack for charmswork,” Ominis explained. “You should really speak with him—he just might invite you to the after party.”
The new fifth-year huffed out a laugh. “This is more celebrating than I’d bargained for. Do you lot ever sleep?”
Ominis chuckled. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Sebastian added.
Shaking his head, Ominis turned his attention to the newest arrival when another cheer rose up from the crowd. “Poppy Sweeting!” Imelda barely had time to call out the name before Poppy was weaving through the crowd, excitedly greeting people and passing out snacks.
“I’ve never been invited to one of these,” Poppy said breathlessly when she’d gotten to their little group, a nervous laugh in her voice. “Um. Hi! I’m Poppy.”
“We heard,” Sebastian said.
Ominis elbowed him. Hard. “It’s lovely to have you with us, Poppy,” he said smoothly, accepting her offered pastry. It felt flaky and tasted buttery, the perfect burst of flavor to accompany the Butterbeer being passed around.
As if on cue, Sebastian groaned. “Is this really all we’re drinking?” It sounded as though he’d flopped onto a nearby armchair. “Please tell me someone’s coming with something stronger.”
There was a sudden ripple of excitement all around them, students murmuring amongst themselves as Imelda called for attention at the front again. Ominis smiled privately to himself.
Sebastian made a choked noise, as though he’d snorted into his drink. “Is that—?”
“Whoever invited Garreth Weasley, you’d better come collect him!”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Ominis said, straightening up, “I have a guest to welcome.” A feeling of dark satisfaction washed over him as he left Sebastian sputtering in his wake. He weaved through the gathered crowd with little trouble, making his way forward as easily as if there were a thread tied neatly between his wand and his party guest, with not a soul standing in their way.
He was smiling by the time he reached the Gryffindor, an expression that only grew warmer and more open when Garreth said, “Wow.” And then, sheepishly, “You clean up well, don’t you? Didn’t mention that before.”
“You flatter me,” Ominis replied, a smirk curving his mouth. “Don’t stop.”
Garreth laughed—a deep, throaty noise that sent shivers up his spine, and for once, Ominis didn’t resist his feelings. Tonight, just this once, he wanted to give in, and so he took a step closer, savoring Garreth’s soft intake of breath.
“I’m glad you came,” Ominis murmured, reaching up until his knuckles brushed against the Gryffindor’s tie. He smiled, then loosened the soft fabric with quick fingers, tugging the whole thing off.
“M’glad too,” Garreth said in a low voice, almost slurred, like he was skirting along the edge of sleep. But there was a warm hand squeezing Ominis’ elbow meaningfully, a searing touch that definitely didn’t convey his guest was at all tired. Tempting, he thought, using the tie he’d loosened to tug Garreth in closer by the other boy’s neck.
The Gryffindor was a little taller than him, Ominis realized, but not by too much. He nosed along Garreth’s cheekbone when he came down to meet him, inhaling the scent of something sugary with a brightness that tickled his nose. That must have been the Fizzing Whizzbeer, though another scent lurked just beneath, something windswept and rain-soaked, like the Highlands just after a storm. It was strangely comforting.
Ominis was surprised when he felt fingers slide along his jaw, and with a little jolt of heat down his spine, Garreth tilted his head to the side, warm breath ghosting across his face. “This working for you, then?” The Gryffindor’s voice was barely over a gravelly rumble.
Swallowing hard, Ominis croaked, “You’re working for me, as it happens.” Garreth actually giggled in response, a breathy sound, and it sent a fluttery feeling rioting in his stomach. I’m really in trouble now, Ominis thought. Naturally, though, he couldn’t let himself be caught that easily. Leaning away just a little, he smiled sweetly. “Are you going to offer me a taste of your new brew, or did you come all this way for something else?”
“Why can’t it be both?” Garreth said in that amused, breezy voice of his. It was maddening in the best way possible, because it was also a challenge. You’re mine, Garreth Weasley, slithered through his mind, deceptively simple, like all things he’d inherited from his family. He wasn’t above possessiveness—he’d fallen prey to it once before, that dark shadow ever-lurking in his heart—but that didn’t mean he had to give in to it.
Distantly, the sounds of the party came back to him in sharp focus, and Ominis felt suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that everyone must have seen them interacting. That had been the point, though, hadn’t it? To be seen by someone in particular, too—and Sebastian surely did, given how brazen he’d been in greeting his guest. Ominis felt at once guilty and obstinate, tired of having to walk on eggshells around Sebastian, always concerned about his friend’s feelings when his friend seemed so wholly unconcerned with his own. Besides, he actually liked Garreth. What was the harm in pursuing this, seeing where it might lead?
He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed Garreth drew away until he was pressing a goblet into his hands. “Your wish is my command,” the Gryffindor said, a sliver of concern underlying the lightness in his tone.
That wouldn’t do. “To us,” Ominis replied, but before he could raise the glass to his lips, Garreth was wrapping his arm around his elbow, tangling them together.
“To us,” he echoed, and they drank.
A bright, bubbly feeling took hold, and Ominis felt a sharp tug before his feet lifted off the ground, hovering there for a moment or two. It might have been unnerving if not for Garreth, who looped his arm around his waist and kept a firm hold on him. “Looks like it worked,” the Gryffindor breathed against the shell of his ear, and Ominis shivered, something he knew Garreth could feel with them pressed together like this.
For once, he wasn’t thinking about Sebastian, or the rest of the party, or even his family.
Ominis pressed in close, following the line of Garreth’s jaw to taste sweetness and promise on his lips. “Yes,” he replied, husky. “I rather think it did.”