Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Okay class! I have a special assignment for you,” Professor Howin announced, clasping her hands with suspicious enthusiasm.

“You will take care of a chicken egg! These are fertilized chicken eggs. You need to ensure it’s healthy and hatches. This is an important aspect of Magical Beasts class!”

“…But chickens are not magical beasts,” Poppy said, brows furrowing.

“EXACTLY!” Professor Howin beamed. “If you can’t take care of a normal animal’s egg, what more a magical one?”

“Well… I do like chickens,” Sebastian said, ever the opportunist.

“YOU LIKE FRIED CHICKENS,” Anne corrected, shooting him a look.

“Chicks are cute,” MC added brightly, stroking the shell of her assigned egg.

“…Yeah. I don’t like them,” Ominis said flatly.

“WHAT? WHY?” Natty peered at him, scandalized.

“They’re small. What if I step on them? I’m blind,” Ominis pointed out, horrified.

“Fair,” Garreth muttered with a nod of solidarity.

“Well… if we can even hatch it,” Samantha sighed, already bracing for failure.

“ALRIGHT! HERE ARE YOUR PARTNERS!” Professor Howin barked, clapping once as she handed out eggs and pamphlets. “You will be parents for 21 days! And here are your pamphlets for proper egg care.”

She waved them out like wedding invitations.

“Anne and Imelda!”

“Ugh.” Imelda crossed her arms as Anne cheerfully took their egg.

“Samantha and Leander!”

“Oh that’ll go well,” Leander mumbled as Samantha shoved a blanket into his arms.

“Natty and Ominis!”

Ominis turned to Natty, deadpan. “I apologize in advance.”

“Sebastian and MC!”

Sebastian whooped. “Yes! Let’s make this baby the best looking chick in class.”

“We are not dressing it in your scarves,” MC warned.

“Poppy and Everett!”

Poppy blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Everett grinned. “I already love it. We’re naming it Henjamin.”

“And… Garreth and Duncan!”

“WHAT?! WHY HIM?!” Garreth protested, scandalized. “I’m sorry, dear. I partnered you with Imelda originally but you two fought, remember?” Professor Howin said sweetly.

Garreth turned to Duncan, betrayed. “Please don’t breathe near me.”

“I’ll read the pamphlet twice,” Duncan offered solemnly.

“Too late. Our child is going to be emotionally neglected.”

___

Day One

“Sebastian!” MC barked, storming back into their common area. “I told you use the heating blanket! YOU ARE GONNA KILL OUR Benedict!”

“I’m scared our chick will be cooked!” Sebastian yelled back, crouched beside the egg, his hands hovering over it like he was defusing a bomb. “You didn’t see how hot it was getting—I think it was sweating!”

“Sebastian. It’s an egg. It doesn’t sweat. That was your own panic dripping.”

“Our baby is in distress!” he cried, cradling the egg to his chest dramatically.

Across the room, Leander was looking increasingly alarmed.

“Leander, where is our egg?!” Samantha asked, her voice rising with each syllable.

Leander blinked.

“I—I had it this morning. I put it in the scarf nest like you said, but then I—err—got distracted when Duncan offered me a Chocolate Frog—”

“LEANDER.” Samantha’s eye twitched.

“Don’t worry! I’ll retrace my steps! Maybe the Frog’s still with it!”

Meanwhile, in the sunniest corner of the courtyard, Poppy was humming softly to her egg like it was a lullaby recipient, cradling it in a knitted wrap.

“Good girl, Sunny,” she cooed.

“It’s not a girl yet,” Everett said, fanning the egg carefully with a folded parchment. “We don’t know.”

“She’s a lady,” Poppy said firmly.

“Fair.”

On a bench near the garden wall, Ominis remained frozen, holding his egg exactly twelve inches from his chest like a cursed object.

He didn’t blink.

“Are you alright?” Natty asked, gently tucking a fresh cloth beneath his hands.

“I’m maintaining equilibrium,” he said. “If I move too much, I drop it. If I loosen my grip, I drop it. If I sneeze—”

“You won’t sneeze.”

“I might.”

Natty sighed and began rereading the care pamphlet for the fourth time.

“‘Avoid jostling, maintain consistent warmth, minimal stress…’ well this is stressful, so we’re doomed.”

Suddenly—

“AAAAAAH—NO NO NO NO—”

Garreth’s panicked shriek rang out as he fumbled, and their egg hit the grass with a soft thud.

Everyone froze.

“…That sounded… very final,” Imelda muttered.

Garreth dropped to his knees. “No. No. Please. I can fix this. Reparo. Reparo—NOOOO!”

Duncan looked like he was about to cry.

Professor Howin calmly approached.

Garreth looked up at her, miserable. “Please. One more chance. Just—just one.”

She sighed, staring down at the yolky tragedy. “One more egg. But if this one dies, you’re both failing, and I’m sending a sympathy card to its mother.”

She conjured a fresh egg and placed it delicately in his trembling hands.

Garreth took it like a knight being handed a sacred relic. “We will protect you,” he whispered.

Duncan nodded solemnly. “Together.”

Day Five

“MC!” Sebastian huffed across the Great Hall, marching down the aisle like a man scorned.

“Oh hey, Sebastian!” she greeted, mid-bite into her toast.

“DON’T ‘HEY’ ME!” he snapped, slamming Benedict’s makeshift nest—complete with a tiny stitched blanket—onto the table. “Benedict was with me all night. YOU DID NOT EVEN VISIT US!”

“…”

“…”

“I had an appointment with Professor Fig!” MC defended, blinking.

“It’s always work with you,” Sebastian said, wounded. “I’m practically a single parent at this point. Do you know how hard it is to sleep beside a heating charm all night? I woke up sweating. I think I hallucinated Benedict clucking in my dreams.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being responsible.”

At the Hufflepuff table, Poppy was spoon-feeding warm water droplets to her egg, Sunny, while Everett held a tiny umbrella over it. “We’re simulating spring rain,” he whispered reverently.

Sunny glistened in the morning light like a spoiled royal.

Ominis was still stiffly holding his egg as if any shift in balance would bring about apocalypse. Natty had braided a tiny egg-sling for him. He looked mildly betrayed.

“…Is that string on me?”

“It’s decorative.”

“It feels like strangulation.”

Garreth was already chewing his third scone, glancing nervously at his own egg sitting next to Duncan—who hadn’t moved for seven minutes straight, terrified of breathing wrong.

“This is fine,” Garreth whispered. “We’ve made it five days. That’s longer than my last relationship.”

Back at the Gryffindor table, Sebastian leaned in toward MC, whispering, “I’m just saying… if this keeps up, I’m filing for joint custody and Benedict comes with me.”

“He’s ours,” she muttered.

“Then act like it.”

She scowled, snatching a piece of toast off his plate and tossing it into her mouth.

Their egg sat quietly in its nest, unaware of the growing co-parent tension brewing over its still unhatched form.

___

Day Six

“IMELDA REYES!” Anne shrieked from across the courtyard, hands on her hips in full maternal fury. “NO, YOU CANNOT SLING OUR LITTLE Scrambles ON YOUR BROOM! WHAT IF IT FELL?!”

Imelda rolled her eyes as she mounted her broom, a custom leather harness strapped across her chest—with their egg, Scrambles, nestled in a heavily padded, egg-shaped helmet.

“IT WON’T, ANNE. OUR EGG IS IN COMPLETE GEAR!” Imelda called back. “Look! Cushioning spells. Stabilizers. Anti-impact charms. This egg is safer than I am!”

“That’s because you keep diving mid-flight like a lunatic!”

“I’m giving it adventure! We are bonding.”

“YOU’RE GIVING ME AN ANEURYSM!”

Nearby, Natty lowered her Spectator Scope and turned to Ominis.

“She’s really doing it.”

“I can hear the wind ripping around it,” Ominis muttered grimly, clutching their own egg like a hostage. “That egg is living a more dangerous life than I am.”

“…Should we report her?”

“To whom? Professor Howin gave up on us on Day Three.”

“Fair.”

At the benches, Samantha slowly turned the page of the egg-care pamphlet.

“‘Do not expose the egg to violent motion or sudden altitude changes,’” she read aloud. “Yeah, Imelda’s absolutely getting us all egg probation.”

Leander shrugged. “Honestly, I’m impressed it’s still whole. I thought we’d be the first to drop out.”

“You still haven’t found the egg from Day One, Leander.”

“I found it. It was just… warm. And under a Slytherin’s bed.”

Samantha blinked.

“Don’t ask.”

Sebastian leaned over their nest, cooing softly to Benedict. “See, your other parent left us again. Probably ‘working.’ I’m all you have, buddy.”

MC sat beside him, unimpressed. “I’m literally right here.”

“You weren’t last night.”

“I had a paper due!”

“Benedict cried.”

“It’s an egg!”

“He cried in spirit.”

MC exhaled slowly. “Do you want full custody?”

Sebastian smirked. “Do you want me to cry harder than the egg?”

From the far corner of the yard, Poppy stood beside Sunny’s golden blanket nest, arms crossed. “Just wait,” she told Everett. “One of these idiots is going to crash a broom with their egg and I will not be helping with cleanup.”

Everett looked up from misting Sunny’s shell with rosewater. “Should we start planning the baby shower?”

___

Day Seven


It was quiet in the Great Hall.

Too quiet.

Until—

“YOU LEFT BENEDICT ON THE WINDOWSILL?!” Sebastian roared.

MC looked up from her porridge, calm as ever. “He needed sunlight. That’s what the pamphlet said. Section three, paragraph two.”

Sebastian slammed both hands on the table. “It also said, ‘never leave your egg unattended near ledges, fireplaces, or Sebastian Sallow’s blood pressure!’”

“That wasn’t in the pamphlet.”

“It was in my soul!”

Down the table, Poppy shielded Sunny from the argument with a soft towel. “Don’t listen to them, sweet girl,” she whispered. “Their love is fragile. You are strong. You are radiant.”

Everett added a gentle hum for ambiance.

Meanwhile, Garreth had set up a watch schedule—complete with shift rotations, alarms, and a checklist Duncan was failing to understand.

“So I feed it… air?” Duncan asked.

“You warm it with your soul,” Garreth snapped. “Breathe in its direction with affection.”

Ominis sat motionless, their egg nestled inside his carefully charmed coat pocket.

“I’m getting attached,” he muttered to Natty, deadpan.

“That’s good!”

“No, Natty. I named it.”

“Oh.”

“It’s Theodore.”

“…That’s a very formal name.”

“I was thinking he might become a Ministry official one day.”

“I see.”

Anne was sulking beside a very grounded Imelda. “You’re lucky Scrambles survived that broom stunt.”

Imelda shrugged. “Our baby’s got spirit.”

“Our baby’s going to have trauma.”

At the Ravenclaw table, Samantha was scribbling notes beside their egg. “We’re behind in emotional enrichment. It hasn’t heard enough music. Or compliments.”

Leander gently poked the shell. “Good job… existing?”

“Don’t patronize our child!”

Back at the Slytherin table, Sebastian clutched Benedict protectively.

“From now on,” he declared, “he stays with me. Day. Night. Even class. If I have to cast Protego on this egg from a sneeze, I will.”

MC reached out and patted his shoulder.

“…Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“You are aware it’s Day Seven and it’s still an egg, right?”

He blinked. “…It feels like a lifetime.”

___

Day 8

“All right class,” Professor Howin chirped, clapping her hands as she summoned a line of softly glowing orbs. “We will do egg candling today! Let’s see if your chicks are doing well!”

Sebastian gasped. “What if it burned?”

“…It won’t,” MC said without looking up, already holding Benedict’s nest in her hands.

“But he’s sensitive,” Sebastian whispered, clutching his chest like he might burn. “What if it’s too bright? What if he sees the light and gets scared and turns around and decides never to hatch—”

“Then I’ll blame his dramatic genes,” MC muttered, gently placing the egg onto the orb.

They both leaned in.

The soft glow passed through the shell, revealing the faintest flicker—like a shadow swimming just under the surface.

Sebastian inhaled sharply. “He’s in there.”

A thin red vein pulsed delicately in the light.

“He’s alive,” MC said.

Sebastian grabbed her hand. “We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re already parents,” she corrected.

“No, I mean emotionally. Spiritually. This is real now.”

MC rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of his hand.

Professor Howin passed behind them, nodding. “Healthy chick. That’s a good sign. Very nice work, you two.”

Sebastian puffed up with pride. “He made it through a heating charm and two nights of abandonment.”

MC elbowed him. “I visited. Once.”

“Once is what the Ministry does. You are the other parent.”

A few steps away, Anne was cradling Scrambles like a porcelain heirloom while Imelda fussed with the egg’s ridiculous leather helmet.

“Let’s see those wings, champ,” Imelda muttered, squinting at the glow.

Anne hissed. “If there’s even a crack from that broom stunt—”

“There won’t be. Look, he’s fluttering. He loved it.”

“Scrambles did not love being strapped to your chest at high altitude.”

“You say trauma, I say thrill-seeking instincts.”

Professor Howin peered over. “Good development. Next time, maybe keep the egg at a lower elevation.”

Across the room, Natty gently guided Ominis’ hands to lower Theodore onto the orb. Ominis tilted his head, listening.

“It’s quiet,” he said.

“There,” Natty whispered. “Right near the top. A flicker. He’s still with us.”

Ominis let out a long breath. “I named him two days ago. If he’d died, I think I would’ve filed a complaint.”

“No need,” she smiled. “Your son is resilient.”

At the end of the table, Garreth was pacing while Duncan held their egg like it was sacred bread. Garreth groaned.

“We didn’t sing to it enough. We were supposed to read bedtime stories, and I skipped chapter five. It knows. It knows we’re bad parents.”

Duncan squinted. “I think I saw something move.”

“Really?!”

“…Or it could’ve been my reflection.”

“I’M NOT READY FOR EGG LOSS.”

Professor Howin finally reached them. A pause. Then a nod.

“Still viable. Little behind, but alive.”

Garreth collapsed into Duncan’s arms. “We’re not failures. Not yet.”

Back by the orb, Sebastian scooped Benedict back into his blanket nest and tucked it against his chest.

“He’s strong,” he said proudly. “Takes after me.”

MC raised an eyebrow. “You cried for ten minutes when we lost the heating charm.”

“Exactly. Emotional depth and survival instincts. He’s perfect.”

___

 Day 10

“Sebastian!” MC snapped the moment she opened their shared nest box. “Benedict smells like perfume. Tell me you did not douse it with your horrible perfume!”

Sebastian, mid-sip of pumpkin juice, choked.

“I spritzed it!” he defended, coughing. “Just a little! Barely even touched the shell!”

“WHY?”

“I thought it might calm him! Lavender is proven to help with prenatal stress—”

“That’s not lavender! That’s your revolting ‘Hog’s Musk’ disaster from fifth year!”

“It’s mature scent! It has notes of bergamot and manhood!”

“It has notes of you’re going to poison our child!”

Sebastian clutched his chest. “I was trying to bond! You’ve been busy again, and I thought—maybe he’d associate me with warmth and—”

MC pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re lucky he didn’t absorb your personality with that smell.”

“Can he do that?!”

“I hope not.”

Poppy passed by with Sunny wrapped in lace. “I’ve read scent can imprint, actually. Though I use fresh calendula and chamomile.”

“See?! See?!” Sebastian pointed. “Other parents are doing it too!”

“Her egg smells like a meadow,” MC snapped. “Ours smells like a teenage disaster in a cauldron closet!”

“I was going for sophisticated.”

“You went full midlife crisis.”

Everett leaned in behind Poppy. “I kind of like it. It’s like… if confidence were a gas leak.”

“NOT HELPING,” MC growled.

Sebastian sighed, gently cradling Benedict. “Sorry, little man. Daddy just wanted you to feel special.”

MC glared.

“I’m joking!” Sebastian added quickly.

She huffed, casting a cleansing charm over the egg before muttering, “If he hatches smelling like musk, I’m giving you full poop duty.”

___

Day 11

“So like… you’re raising an egg and then a chick to chicken, till you can eat it—is that it?” a wandering third-year asked casually, glancing at the collection of carefully cradled nests scattered across the courtyard bench.

The entire group froze.

Gasped.

Even Ominis, who technically hadn’t seen the look of collective horror, felt it in the silence.

Sebastian clutched Benedict tighter. “EAT?!”

MC looked physically ill. “He has a name.”

Sunny was instantly scooped into Poppy’s arms, who held her like a war-torn widow clinging to her only child. “She’s not food, she’s a blessing.”

Everett backed her up with a quiet, “You’re gonna want to walk away now, mate.”

Anne’s eye twitched. “Scrambles is family.”

Imelda reached for her wand. “Say it again. I dare you.”

Leander looked horrified. “Pip’s going to learn to read. He’s going to get a tiny job at Flourish and Blotts. We’re not eating him.”

“We sing to him,” Samantha added faintly. “And read him bedtime stories about dragon diplomacy. How dare you.”

Ominis didn’t speak. He simply turned his face toward the student and said in the calmest voice possible, “Leave. Before someone—likely me—curses you into a meat pie.”

The student raised both hands. “Alright, alright, damn. Sorry. Thought they were just, you know, eggs.”

“You don’t just say that!” Sebastian snapped. “This is Benedict. He’s my son.”

“Week and a half ago you wanted to scramble him,” MC muttered.

“THAT WAS DIFFERENT.”

Professor Howin strolled by just in time to see the student shuffle away in shame.

“Good instincts,” she told them. “If you’re already emotionally compromised, it means you’re doing something very right.”

Scrambles gave a little wobble in her nest.

Anne immediately burst into tears.

__

Day 12

Sebastian gasped, scandalized.

He stood frozen in the courtyard, one hand dramatically pressed against his chest as his eyes zeroed in on MC—who was, to his horror, cradling an egg that was not Benedict.

“WHY are you holding Garreth and Duncan’s egg?!” he cried. “MC, why are you holding PUDDING?! ARE YOU CHEATING ON OUR FAMILY?!”

MC blinked. “WHAT?!”

“She’s in your arms!”

“They just wanted me to check her!”

“That’s what they all say!”

“I was checking her temperature!”

“Oh, temperature now, is it? Next thing I know, you’ll be doing midnight feedings and calling her your little yolky princess!”

“Sebastian—”

“I gave everything to this family!”

“She’s an egg! Garreth’s egg!”

First-years eating lunch on the grass nearby had stopped chewing entirely. One of them whispered, “Is that what heartbreak looks like?”

Another nodded solemnly. “That man is losing custody in real time.”

Garreth jogged up, slightly breathless. “She was just helping! Pudding’s been a bit cold lately—our heating charm shorted out.”

Sebastian pointed an accusing finger. “You should’ve asked me!”

“You were busy teaching Benedict how to balance on your head!”

“He’s advanced!”

MC gently handed Pudding back to Garreth. “Here. Take your egg and your accusations elsewhere.”

Sebastian stood there, still looking betrayed. “I need a moment.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You touched another yolk.”

MC sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

From a few steps away, Ominis turned toward Natty and deadpanned, “If I ever get like that, crack Theodore over my head.”

“I make no promises,” she murmured.

Poppy glanced over from Sunny’s nest and whispered, “Should we plan an egg therapy circle?”

“I vote yes,” Everett said. “Emotions are boiling.”

Day 13

Ominis stilled, hands hovering just above the bench.

“…Natty.”

She looked up from her notes.

“Don’t tell me I sat on Theodore.”

There was a long pause. Natty inspected the egg under him, carefully lifting it.

“…No, Ominis. That is a normal boiled egg.”

Ominis recoiled. “Boiled?”

“Yes. Completely cooked. Still warm.”

His voice rose a full octave. “WHY IS A BOILED EGG HANGING AROUND OUR EGGS?!”

Natty’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know! I didn’t pack lunch today—did you?”

“I don’t eat eggs, Natty, we’re raising one!”

They both turned to their nest, where Theodore was nestled peacefully among a few carefully arranged blankets… now suspiciously close to the offending boiled impostor.

“What if someone thinks Theodore is a snack?” Ominis hissed. “What if someone sees him, cracks him open, and we lose our son to brunch?!”

Natty was already casting a detection charm, identifying each egg by magical signature. “Alright, alright, he’s here—this one’s Theodore. But who leaves a rogue hardboiled egg next to a magical caregiving assignment?!”

A few feet away, Duncan muttered, “…I may have dropped my breakfast.”

Garreth slapped his forehead. “Duncan!”

“I didn’t want to get up for a napkin!”

“You nearly caused a funeral!”

Sebastian, passing by with Benedict wrapped in a lace bonnet, froze. “Wait. Is that a food egg?!”

MC narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I wasn’t—I was just wondering if maybe Benedict should see it. As a warning.”

“He’s an egg, not a war general.”

“Still. Psychological training starts early.”

Ominis clutched Theodore protectively. “He’s not ready for this world.”

Natty crossed her arms. “From now on, no food near the babies. And if I catch another boiled egg in our area, I’m hexing it.”

“Hex it twice,” Ominis muttered darkly.

Day 14

“Merlin’s sake. ANNE, YOUR TWIN BROTHER IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!” MC shouted, slamming her hands down on the table.

Anne didn’t even look up from polishing Scrambles’ tiny nest cradle. “What did he do now?”

“HE LOST BENEDICT. AGAIN.”

“I didn’t lose him!” Sebastian called from somewhere across the courtyard. “He just rolled off the bench! He’s adventurous!”

“He’s an egg!”

“A curious egg!”

“I TURNED AROUND FOR TWO SECONDS AND HE WAS GONE!”

Anne sighed, finally setting her cloth down. “Did he at least land in the moss pile this time?”

“No! He rolled into Everett’s foot!”

Everett raised a hand from where he was helping Poppy re-fluff Sunny’s nest. “To be fair, I caught him with my shoe. No cracks.”

“Bless you,” MC muttered.

Poppy winced. “That explains the tiny dent…”

“WHAT?!” Sebastian was instantly at her side, grabbing Benedict and examining him like he’d been wounded in battle. “Where? Where’s the dent?! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!”

“It’s barely there!” Poppy held up her hands. “It’s like… a noble scar.”

“HE’S A WEEK FROM HATCHING!”

“I’ll cast a smoothing charm!” MC shouted, already drawing her wand.

Sebastian gasped. “NO! We don’t know if that’ll affect his shell’s integrity! What if he hatches early with smooth bones?!”

“That’s not how bones—do you even hear yourself?!”

Anne turned back to Imelda. “So anyway, I think Scrambles should get a bow.”

Imelda snorted. “She should get noise-canceling charms if this continues.”

Leander peeked in from behind Samantha’s book shield. “Benedict has almost died three times this week. Is there a protection spell for parents?”

“Can confirm,” Ominis said flatly, holding Theodore to his chest. “At this point, Sebastian’s the real danger to eggs.”

“EXCUSE ME,” Sebastian snapped. “I am the soul of fatherhood.”

“You are the howler of fatherhood,” MC muttered.

Professor Howin strolled past without stopping. “If the egg survives its parents, it passes.”

Day 15

“So…” Sebastian leaned forward, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he eyed Garreth and Duncan, both fussing over Pudding’s moss-lined nest.

“Who’s the mother?” he asked.

Garreth froze, one hand mid-puff on a warming charm.

Duncan blinked. “What?”

Sebastian gestured casually. “You know. Between the two of you. Which one’s the mum?”

Garreth’s face went red. “Why do I have to be the mother?!”

Duncan looked horrified. “Wait—why do I have to be?!”

“Gentle energy,” Sebastian offered, barely containing his laughter. “And you both coo when you talk to her. Classic mum behavior.”

“We coo out of respect!” Garreth snapped. “She’s delicate!”

“I do not coo,” Duncan said weakly.

“You literally tucked her in and sang Goodnight Hippogriff last night,” Garreth accused.

“I WAS EMOTIONAL, SHE WOBBLED.”

“Exactly,” Sebastian said smugly. “Motherly instincts.”

MC walked past with Benedict swaddled in a freshly fluffed blanket. “Why are you bullying people today?”

“Character building,” Sebastian replied. “Also, it’s fun.”

MC gave him a look. “You cried when Benedict hiccuped.”

“He wasn’t breathing right!”

Ominis muttered from nearby, “Do I want to know how he even recognized a hiccup from an unhatched egg?”

Natty replied gently, “He made it up.”

Poppy wandered over with Sunny in her sling. “If I had to guess, Duncan would be the one in charge of bath time.”

“I would,” Duncan admitted proudly.

“I rest my case,” Sebastian said, triumphant.

Garreth threw his hands up. “Fine. I’m the father, Duncan’s the mother, and you’re the annoying uncle who shows up, gives the chick chocolate, and vanishes for six years!”

“I like that role,” Sebastian said. “Very little responsibility. Maximum drama.”

Professor Howin passed by, overhearing just enough to sigh, “As long as the chick survives, you can assign any titles you want. But if I hear one of you trying to breastfeed magically, I’m reporting you.”

Everyone immediately went silent.

Day 16

“Sam?” Leander asked, glancing nervously at the egg nestled in their enchanted nest of wool and cotton.

“Are we sure Pip is a lady? I think he’s a rooster.”

Samantha slowly looked up from her notes. “Excuse me?”

Leander shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just a vibe.”

“A vibe?”

“Yeah. Pip has… confident energy. Like a strut. I think he’s gonna crow.”

Samantha narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t even seen legs.”

“Well, no. But—Pip feels bold. Like a ‘wake-up-the-farm-at-5AM’ kind of bold.”

Samantha set her quill down. “Pip is a gentle soul, Leander. She likes lullabies and quiet mornings and her nest exactly twelve degrees warm.”

“Or he’s just a picky prince who needs constant pampering.”

“That’s your influence.”

“It’s not bad if Pip’s a rooster,” Leander offered.

“I named her after Pip March!”

“You named her after a fictional character?”

“She’s literary!”

“I thought it was because you liked pudding!”

“That’s Pudding!” Samantha pointed to Garreth and Duncan, who both waved enthusiastically.

“Ah. Right.”

Across the courtyard, Sebastian muttered, “You see? Identity drama. It starts early.”

MC rolled her eyes. “If you try to assign Benedict a personality based on his ‘vibe,’ I swear I’ll hex you.”

“He is a leader,” Sebastian whispered reverently. “I feel it. He’s going to be Head Chick.”

Meanwhile, Natty leaned toward Ominis, whispering, “Should we tell them sexing a chick doesn’t happen until after hatching?”

Ominis tilted his head. “Let them panic. It builds resilience.”

Back with Samantha and Leander, she was now staring dramatically at Pip’s shell.

“If you’re a rooster, Pip, we’ll still love you. But we’ll have to rename you.”

Leander lit up. “Pickle.”

“Absolutely not.”

Day 17

“Okay, is no one panicking?!” Imelda shrieked, storming into the courtyard like a woman on the edge. “It’s a few days ‘til they hatch! We’re gonna have sleepless nights! Peeps! Chirps! Shavings everywhere!”

She flung her arms out, panting. “This is real.”

The courtyard went still.

“…That is right,” Sebastian suddenly whispered, eyes wide as if a revelation had struck him from above.

“And I have a wife who is rarely home.”

MC choked on her tea. “I—what?”

“Sebastian Sallow, I am NOT your wife.” she snapped.

He turned slowly, expression wounded. “…You said we were a family.”

“I said we were egg parents!”

“Same thing!”

“I am telling you, Sallow,” she declared, rising to full height, finger pointed at his chest. “I want that big diamond ring. I won’t be your wife without that!”

A beat.

“AND WE ARE NOT EVEN IN A RELATIONSHIP!”

Gasps echoed from several benches.

“I can’t believe this,” Everett whispered, clutching Sunny protectively. “They’ve been co-parenting out of wedlock this whole time.”

“I thought they were married by Day 6,” Duncan muttered.

“Emotionally married, maybe,” Garreth added, nodding wisely.

Poppy leaned over to Samantha. “Do you think she’d prefer a cushion-cut or pear-shaped diamond?”

“Oh, she’s a cushion-cut girl,” Samantha said instantly.

“WAIT,” Sebastian shouted, throwing his arms up. “So you’ve been leading me on? After everything we’ve been through?! After the perfume incident?! The windowsill betrayal?!”

MC looked ready to combust. “That was your perfume and your fault—”

Sebastian dropped to one knee, dramatically cradling Benedict’s egg between them. “Then give me a chance, woman! I’ll hatch this chick, I’ll buy that ring, I’ll raise this family right!”

First years nearby burst into applause.

Professor Howin paused mid-step, muttered “I need a drink,” and kept walking.

Day 18

“Natty… I’m really scared I’ll step on Theodore once he hatches,” Ominis said quietly, his hands resting protectively over their egg as if it could sense his anxiety.

Natty immediately reached over and touched his arm. “Ominis, don’t worry. We won’t let it wander the ground in its first few weeks. We’ll keep him close. Crate-trained. Floating charm ready. Safety circle. The works.”

Ominis nodded slowly, though his brows remained creased. “He’s going to be so small.”

“You’ll hear him,” Natty assured. “And I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll still panic.”

“Panicking is part of parenthood.”

From a nearby table, Garreth leaned in, eyes darting around nervously. “You avoid Zenobia. Seriously.”

“What?” Natty blinked.

“She’s been talking about a chick dish. Like… suspiciously often.”

Ominis froze.

“A what?” Natty’s voice dropped.

Garreth nodded grimly. “Something about a herb-butter marinade. Lemon zest. She called it ‘early celebration plans.’ I don’t like it. That’s egg violence.”

“She’s dead to me,” Ominis said immediately.

“She was never alive to me,” Natty muttered, already reaching for her wand.

Down the way, MC looked over. “Did I just hear Zenobia and eating chicks in the same sentence?”

“Yes,” Ominis replied. “Consider this a formal declaration of war.”

“Noted.”

Meanwhile, Sebastian was wrapping Benedict’s entire nest in three layers of cotton and humming an off-key lullaby that sounded vaguely like a funeral dirge.

“…Is he okay?” Poppy asked Everett.

“No,” Everett replied. “But he’s trying.”

“I’ve picked out Sunny’s post-hatching blanket,” Poppy said proudly, showing off a pale yellow fabric with hand-embroidered suns. “She’s going to be radiant.”

“She already glows emotionally,” Everett whispered.

Samantha appeared beside them with a scroll. “I have a list of twenty gender-neutral names in case Pip isn’t a Pip.”

Leander looked horrified. “You’d rename Pip?”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’d adjust.”

“Pip will have an identity crisis.”

“So will I if we hatch a Pip who crows.”

 Day 19

“I THINK I HEAR CHIRPING!” Poppy suddenly gasped, nearly dropping Sunny in shock. “Is that right, Professor Howin?!”

The courtyard froze.

All eyes turned.

Professor Howin, mid-lecture about proper post-hatch temperature regulation, blinked—then immediately strode over, robes billowing behind her.

“Where exactly did you hear it, Miss Sweeting?”

“Here!” Poppy cupped Sunny like a precious jewel, eyes wide and shining. “I heard a little peep! Just once! Everett, tell her!”

Everett nodded frantically. “It was real! Tiny and sweet. Like a sneeze if it were hopeful!”

Professor Howin leaned in, holding her wand above the egg.

There was a long pause.

And then—

peep.

It was barely audible, soft as wind through feathers.

But it was there.

A gasp rippled through the class.

“Oh my Merlin,” MC whispered.

Sebastian spun toward Benedict’s nest like it might explode. “Start chirping, son. You’re being outpaced.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” MC said quickly, already hovering over the blanket.

Professor Howin stood upright. “It’s a very good sign. Hatchings usually begin between Day 19 and 21. It means Sunny is right on time.”

Poppy burst into tears. “She’s punctual! I knew it!”

“She takes after you,” Everett said proudly, wiping his eyes with the corner of his sleeve.

Natty clutched Ominis’ arm. “Are you ready for this?”

“No.”

“Neither am I.”

Scrambles shifted in her nest. Anne immediately lunged forward.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?”

Imelda raised her wand. “If anyone breathes near her wrong I’ll hex them into the hospital wing.”

Garreth dropped his biscuit in shock. “It’s really happening.”

Duncan whispered, “Pudding just kicked me. I swear she kicked.”

“She’s an egg,” Garreth said faintly.

“Still counts.”

Across the courtyard, Leander was full-on panicking.

“Samantha. I’m not ready. Pip isn’t ready. What if it hatches and hates us?! What if it sees my face and just walks out of the shell?!”

“We have two more days,” Samantha said calmly. “Plenty of time for Pip to emotionally bond with you.”

“I need more snacks. And probably therapy.”

Professor Howin stepped back and clapped once.

“Everyone, stay calm, stay gentle. This is the home stretch.”

Poppy was already singing a lullaby under her breath, cradling Sunny with awe.

Sebastian held Benedict up toward the sun.

“Any minute now. I believe in you.”

MC sighed. “He’s going to name his grandkids before this egg even cracks.”

Day 20

“Okay!” Professor Howin clapped her hands, levitating a large wooden case into the center of the courtyard. It glowed faintly with soft magic, its inside lined with warm enchanted straw. “Now you need to put the eggs in this enchanted box. Mark them so you’ll know which is yours.”

“WHAT?! WHY?!” Sebastian barked, instinctively clutching Benedict tighter to his chest.

“They need a safe, clean, and warm place to hatch,” Professor Howin explained patiently. “And we won’t help them. It’s important they hatch on their own.”

“You mean… we just abandon them?!” he gasped.

“They’re not abandoned. They’re protected.”

Sebastian looked down at Benedict, horrified. “But what if he thinks I’ve left him?”

MC was already pulling out a quill. “Sebastian, he doesn’t know who you are. He’s still in an egg.”

“He knows my heartbeat.”

“That’s probably your fault for sleeping with him strapped to your chest.”

“Bonding!” he wailed.

Professor Howin cleared her throat. “They must learn to break through the shell without interference. It’s part of their natural strength. If you help them too early, they may never survive properly. It’s instinctual.”

Poppy gently kissed the top of Sunny’s shell before placing her into the box, whispering, “You’ve got this, darling. Be strong. You’re radiant.”

Everett marked a little sun icon next to her name and immediately stepped back with red eyes.

Natty guided Ominis to the edge of the box. He lingered.

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“I know.”

“Theodore will think I gave up on him.”

“He won’t,” Natty said gently. “You raised him with love. Now he needs to do this part alone.”

Ominis finally placed him inside. “Be brave, little lion.”

Imelda practically threw Scrambles in. “You better punch your way out of there.”

Anne gently readjusted the moss with trembling fingers. “Ignore her. I love you.”

Samantha drew a tiny pip-shaped star next to their egg and muttered a soft prayer under her breath.

Leander was crying.

Garreth stared into the box dramatically. “This is it. This is when it all changes.”

Duncan was sobbing. “I DON’T WANT TO LET HER GO.”

MC carefully set Benedict into the box, smoothing the blanket one last time.

Sebastian leaned over him, voice breaking. “We’ll be right outside. I’ll read to you. And when you come out, I’m making you a crown.”

MC rolled her eyes but didn’t stop him.

Professor Howin gently closed the box lid. “And now… we wait.”


Day 21

It was still dark outside when the first tap echoed inside the enchanted box.

A soft sound. Barely there. Like a knuckle against glass.

The courtyard was quiet—students had gathered early, bundled in cloaks and blankets, eyes heavy with sleep, hearts beating too fast. The enchanted box sat at the center, softly glowing, its warmth steady and silent.

“Did anyone hear that?” Poppy whispered, sitting cross-legged beside the box, Sunny’s name marked in delicate script beside a tiny embroidered sun.

Everyone leaned in.

Tap.

Tap…tap.

Professor Howin nodded solemnly. “That’s called pipping. The chick is using its egg tooth to break through the inner membrane and start cracking the shell.”

Everett gasped. “She’s making her debut.”

A few feet away, Samantha had her hand gently pressed against the outer edge. “Pip,” she whispered. “You’re doing it, darling. Just like we practiced.”

A few more quiet taps. Then a pause.

“They rest between pushes,” Howin explained. “It’s hard work. Can take hours.”

“Hours?” Sebastian said, aghast. “Benedict’s been in there for weeks. What’s a few more minutes?”

“Let them be,” MC warned. “You so much as whisper encouragement and I swear—”

“I’m silent.” Sebastian sat on the ground, cross-legged, arms folded tight. “I’m respectful. I’m composed.”

He was vibrating.

From within the box, another faint crack echoed. Then another.

This time, more eggs followed.

A shell shifted.

“Scrambles is moving!” Anne said, clutching Imelda’s arm. “I see a fissure—look!”

“LET HER BREATHE!” Imelda shouted at no one in particular.

“Theodore’s shifting,” Natty said quietly. “Ominis—he’s pecking the shell.”

Ominis dropped to his knees beside her. “Go on, then. Fight.”

More eggs wobbled softly, little shuffles and cracks growing louder in the still morning air. Pudding rolled slightly on her side. Garreth whimpered. Duncan looked ready to faint.

From Benedict’s corner, a small piece of shell chipped away.

Sebastian gasped and immediately slapped both hands over his mouth.

MC slowly reached over and took his wrist, grounding him. “He’s doing it.”

Professor Howin paced calmly behind them. “They’ll emerge fully when they’re ready. Sometimes all at once. Sometimes over the course of the day.”

The sun had begun to rise, painting the edges of the box in pale gold.

One by one, the sounds continued—slow, steady, alive.

Hopeful.

Day 21

The courtyard held its breath.

The first true crack split through the silence—clean, deliberate, and small. A sliver of shell flaked away, tumbling off the edge of the nest inside the enchanted box.

Sunny’s egg rocked forward gently.

Poppy made a soft sound, halfway between a gasp and a sob. “That’s her. That’s her.”

Everett dropped to his knees beside her. “She’s breaking through.”

Another crack followed. Then a push. A wet, glistening beak peeked through the hole, trembling with effort.

“She’s pipped and zipping,” Professor Howin said calmly. “She’s making the final turn.”

They watched as the shell broke apart in jagged lines. Bit by bit, the chick fought its way out—until with a final heave, it flopped into the warm straw, damp and soft and barely breathing.

Everyone went still.

“…Sunny?” Poppy whispered, eyes shining.

A faint chirp answered.

Everett immediately began crying.

The chick—tiny, golden, and slightly awkward—lifted her head. Eyes still sealed shut, wings stuck to her sides, but alive.

“Oh,” Poppy breathed. “She’s perfect.”

Professor Howin nodded. “Let her rest. That was a battle.”

Another egg cracked nearby. Then another. Little sounds filled the air—chirps, shell pieces snapping, faint shuffles.

Scrambles’ shell had a long, diagonal split. “Come on,” Anne murmured, clutching her wand like it might help. “Push through, baby.”

Imelda was standing over the box like a security troll. “If anyone breathes on her I will hex your lungs shut.”

Next came Pip—Samantha swore she heard a tiny trill before a wing even emerged. “She’s musical already,” she said, clutching Leander’s hand.

Ominis tilted his head toward the box. “That sound—Natty, is that—?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s Theodore. He’s almost there.”

He let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it for the entire 21 days.

Pudding’s egg trembled like it was mid-dance. Duncan squeaked. “She’s spinning. She’s spinning, Garreth, is that normal?!”

“It’s artistic! Let her express herself!”

And then—

“MC,” Sebastian said hoarsely. “Look.”

Benedict’s egg was nearly fully zipped. He was slow—deliberate. But his shell was giving way in even lines. A small crack widened and widened—until at last, with a quiet pop, the top of the egg lifted like a tiny helmet.

And there he was.

A damp, scruffy fluffball. Still curled. Breathing hard.

MC didn’t say a word.

Sebastian dropped to his knees beside the box and whispered, “You did it. You did it.”

Benedict blinked, once. Then gave the tiniest, most indignant peep imaginable.

Sebastian broke into a grin that could’ve melted mountains.

MC crouched down slowly, resting her hand on the wood of the box. “Hi, little troublemaker.”

Benedict collapsed softly against the side of the nest, exhausted.

Professor Howin stepped back and smiled. “They made it.”

And for a long, reverent moment, no one said a word.

They just listened to the sound of new life filling the air.

 Day 22

It should have been peaceful.

Tiny chirps echoed from the enchanted box, each chick now dry, blinking slowly and awkwardly as they wobbled around the warm straw. The hatching was complete. Everyone was alive.

But peace was not the mood.

“HE’S NOT EATING.” Sebastian announced like it was the end of the world.

MC didn’t even flinch. “Because he’s twenty minutes old, Sebastian.”

“He’s staring at the food and not eating. That’s a red flag!”

“He’s blinking.”

“With judgment!”

Professor Howin approached calmly, peering into Benedict’s corner of the box. “They usually don’t eat right away. Their bodies absorb the yolk sac before hatching. He’s fine.”

Sebastian looked betrayed. “He chirped at me like I failed him.”

“He’s breathing.”

“He peeped disapprovingly.”

MC sighed. “We are not doing this again.”

Across the courtyard, Duncan was sniffling while cradling Pudding against his chest. “She’s too small to exist. What if she forgets how to stand?!”

Garreth was flipping through the pamphlet furiously. “Okay, okay—tiny sips of water, warm bedding, and no emotional trauma. Duncan. Breathe happy thoughts at her.”

“I’ve been breathing love this whole time!”

“She’s radiant,” Professor Howin noted. “Strong feet. Nice wing curl. Very healthy chick.”

“I KNEW IT,” Duncan wailed. “PUDDING, YOU’RE A STAR!”

Poppy had Sunny perched delicately on her forearm, wrapped in a light tea cloth. “She had two sips of water. Everett sang. She seems pleased.”

“She winked at me,” Everett said proudly.

Imelda was panicking in silence while pretending she wasn’t. “Scrambles is… she’s… is that limping?”

“She just hatched,” Anne muttered, gently guiding the chick’s leg. “She hasn’t figured out balance yet. Like you at three Firewhiskies.”

Imelda frowned. “She’s better than that.”

“Let her learn to walk first.”

Meanwhile, Pip had already managed to flap one wing and trip over a soft leaf.

“He’s dramatic,” Leander sighed.

“SHE,” Samantha corrected.

“Oh no,” Leander whispered. “We’re having a gender reveal.”

Natty carefully guided Theodore toward the edge of the nest, helping him peck at the water dish.

“Small steps,” she said. “You’re doing amazing.”

Ominis, sitting cross-legged, was still pale. “He squeaked, Natty. I can’t handle squeaking.”

“He’s alive, Ominis.”

“And now I want another one.”

“NO.”

Professor Howin stepped forward.

“Congratulations, parents. First hatchings are complete. Feeding, temperature, and bonding will now continue for the next few days. Just remember—no panic, no sudden magic, and absolutely no conjuring matching outfits.”

Sebastian was already sketching Benedict-sized spectacles.

MC didn’t stop him. She just sighed.

 Day 23

By the next morning, the courtyard had transformed.

The enchanted box stood open, and the chicks—no longer damp and fragile—were now fully fluffed. Tiny feathers puffed out in every direction, soft and uneven. They chirped constantly, high-pitched and shrill, filling the crisp air with nonstop squeaks and peeps.

And they were moving.

“MC. He’s following me,” Sebastian whispered, walking in slow motion with his arms slightly out, Benedict waddling after him like a determined cotton ball.

“Good,” MC said, yawning. “He thinks you’re his mum.”

“I am his father.”

“You’re also the one who named him Benedict, so don’t get defensive.”

“Benedict Sallow,” Sebastian muttered with pride. “First of his name. Terror of the Courtyard.”

The chick tripped over his own foot and faceplanted.

“…We’re working on the terror part.”

“Alright!” Professor Howin called out, raising her voice above the chirping chorus. “Your chicks now need warmth, frequent hydration, and movement. You’ll also need to simulate a hen nesting—keep them close, under soft cloth or warmed arms. They’re bonding now, so stay consistent.”

Garreth was already sitting cross-legged with Pudding wedged inside his hoodie, only her beak poking out.

“She refuses to walk. She is princess energy only.”

Duncan was fanning her. “She deserves the world.”

Poppy had crafted a wrap from her scarf, Sunny nestled in like royalty. “I haven’t sat down in four hours. She squeaks if I move.”

Everett whispered, “She trained you.”

Samantha had Pip climbing her sleeve. “You’re not supposed to be up there. Pip. Pip, no. Pip—”

Pip leapt off her shoulder onto Leander’s lap.

“He’s an explorer,” Leander said solemnly. “She,” Samantha corrected again.

“Right.”

Natty had Theodore wrapped against her chest in a wool sling. “He’s so warm.”

“I can hear his heartbeat,” Ominis whispered.

“That might be mine.”

Scrambles had already claimed an entire blanket as territory and was now hopping circles around Imelda’s boots.

“Why is she sprinting?” Imelda asked.

“She’s got Anne’s caffeine tolerance,” Anne replied, sipping tea.

Meanwhile, MC sat with her legs stretched out, Benedict tucked into the crook of her arm like a smug king.

Sebastian was hovering behind them like a bodyguard. “Should we build him a proper brooder?”

MC glanced up. “You tried to wrap him in a sock earlier.”

“I panicked! It looked cold!”

“Stop treating him like a war orphan.”

“He peeped sadly.”

“You imagined that.”

“I felt it.”

Professor Howin strolled by, nodding. “Excellent progress. Just remember—no magic parenting. No shrinking. No transfigured bassinets. Let them grow.”

“Can I knit him a sweater?” Sebastian asked.

“No,” MC and Professor Howin said at the same time.

Day 24

Imelda gasped so loudly it startled three chicks in the box.

“SEBASTIAN!” she shouted, one finger pointed with dramatic flair. “BENEDICT IS ANNOYING SCRAMBLES. FIX YOUR CHICK!”

Everyone turned.

Benedict was peeping nonstop, trotting after Scrambles with his little wings flapping like he meant to square up. Scrambles, twice his size and half as tolerant, was doing huffy laps around Anne’s boots trying to escape.

Sebastian rushed over, crouched down like he was breaking up a duel. “Benedict! What did we say about boundaries?”

“He keeps pecking her foot!” Imelda cried. “And chirping like he’s got opinions!”

“He does have opinions!” Sebastian defended. “He’s vocal! He’s expressive!”

“He’s obnoxious!”

“He’s confident!”

“He’s pecking her tail feathers off!”

MC rubbed her temple. “I told you not to let him watch you argue with portraits. Now he thinks that’s a social cue.”

“I was defending your honor!”

Scrambles gave a sharp peep and dramatically rolled onto her side, fluff ruffled and clearly done with everyone.

“See? She fainted!” Imelda barked.

“She dramatically laid down.” Anne corrected. “She does that when she’s tired.”

“She’s tired of him!”

Meanwhile, Sunny was nestled like a royal jewel inside Poppy’s pocket, watching the chaos unfold with dainty judgment.

“Socialization is critical at this stage,” Professor Howin said as she walked past, observing the feathered meltdown. “Let them engage, but monitor signs of aggression.”

“They’re all dramatic little balls of noise,” Leander muttered as Pip climbed onto his boot and squeaked proudly.

“I think Benedict is just trying to assert himself,” Natty offered diplomatically.

“I think he’s annoying,” Ominis replied, arms crossed. “And I say that with love.”

Sebastian scooped Benedict up, who peeped furiously in protest and attempted to peck his chin. “Okay, okay, fine. You’re on timeout. This is why we can’t have magical chickens.”

“I’m starting to believe you raised him with too many ego boosts,” MC muttered.

“He’s assertive!”

“He’s a menace.”

“You liked that about me!”

“I tolerated it.”

Benedict peeped louder.

“Oh no,” Everett whispered. “He knows.”

 Day 25

Professor Howin stood at the front of the courtyard, her arms crossed with uncharacteristic pride.

“All right, everyone. Today you’ll be presenting your observations and reflections on chick development. I want to hear about their habits, their bonding, and what you learned as caregivers.”

She stepped aside. “Let’s begin.”

⸻

Poppy and Everett stepped forward first, Sunny perched calmly on Poppy’s wrist like she’d been born for the stage.

Poppy cleared her throat. “Sunny enjoys morning cuddles, chamomile steam baths, and Everett’s lullabies. She is confident, emotionally intelligent, and responds well to positive reinforcement.”

“She hates loud voices,” Everett added. “And chaos. She literally turns her back on it.”

Sunny demonstrated by turning away from Garreth’s side of the courtyard.

⸻

Samantha and Leander were next. Pip was currently trying to peck Samantha’s ink bottle.

“Pip is… opinionated,” Samantha said delicately. “They enjoy high places, knocking things over, and asserting dominance through peeping.”

“We think Pip’s a rooster,” Leander muttered.

“We don’t know that.”

“He pecks my robes and glares at me.”

“He’s testing your boundaries.”

“He wins. Every time.”

⸻

Garreth and Duncan stepped up with Pudding, who was sitting in a custom velvet cushion.

“She refuses to walk,” Garreth said. “She has us carry her.”

“She squeaks if we stop,” Duncan added. “It’s very effective.”

“Pudding taught us patience, emotional regulation, and how to sleep upright while humming.”

“I think I bonded too hard,” Duncan whispered. “I dream in chirps.”

⸻

Natty and Ominis presented Theodore, who had perched perfectly still on Ominis’ open palm.

“Theodore is cautious, calm, and attentive,” Natty said. “He prefers warmth and stillness.”

“He chirps three times when he’s hungry,” Ominis added softly. “Once when he’s comfortable. And he nestles against sound. We think he recognizes our voices.”

Everyone went quiet for a moment. Then Theodore gave a soft peep.

⸻

Imelda and Anne marched up with Scrambles, who immediately jumped off Imelda’s shoulder and began running in circles.

“She has too much energy,” Imelda said, exasperated.

“She is spirited,” Anne corrected. “She responds to movement, loves confrontation, and will fight anyone who looks at her funny.”

“She pecked a mirror yesterday,” Imelda added.

“I said funny, not wrong.”

⸻

Finally, Sebastian and MC walked up with Benedict, who was wearing a tiny cloth tied like a cape. No one knew who allowed it.

“Benedict is bold, stubborn, and very loud,” MC said.

“He is also loyal, follows us around obsessively, and demands eye contact when being fed,” Sebastian beamed. “He has a strong sense of justice. And drama.”

“He pecked the floor until we followed him to his food bowl.”

“He’s brilliant.”

“He’s a gremlin.”

“I’m very proud.”

Benedict peeped like he agreed with every word.

⸻

Professor Howin gave a long nod, arms folded.

“Well then. You’ve all survived the impossible. Your chicks are healthy, socialized, and only slightly traumatized by their upbringing.”

“I think we’re the ones traumatized,” Leander whispered.

“Good,” she said. “Parenting should never be easy.”

⸻

Day 26

“Now we need to let them go to a farm,” Professor Howin said, voice firm yet gentle.

“…WHAT?!” a chorus of voices rang out instantly.

“NO!”

“Professor!” Poppy cried. “We can keep them here! There’s space in the courtyard, the forest, the castle—”

“WHAT IF THEY DON’T LIKE THE FOOD?!” Duncan wailed. “Pudding needs warm milk and honey water!”

“They’ll starve, I know it,” Garreth moaned.

Professor Howin didn’t flinch. “No. One thing you must know as magical caregivers… is how to let go.”

She looked at them each in turn. “You’ve raised them. Now they need room to grow.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Garreth collapsed to his knees, clutching Pudding to his chest. “My princess! My angel! My fluffy sovereign!”

Scrambles pecked Imelda’s shoelace like nothing was wrong. Imelda, however, was deathly still.

“I am not saying goodbye,” she said flatly.

“You have to,” Anne whispered, wrapping an arm around her.

“I will hex the farm.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I might.”

Ominis knelt beside Theodore, who peeped once and leaned into his palm. “Will they be warm? I need to know they’ll be warm.”

“They will,” Natty said quietly. “We’ll check the farm ourselves. We’ll visit.”

MC crouched beside Sebastian, watching as Benedict chirped at a piece of lint. “He doesn’t understand,” she murmured.

Sebastian’s jaw was tight. “He just learned how to walk in a straight line.”

“I know.”

“He finally peeped the happy way.”

“I know.”

He didn’t speak again for a while.

Poppy tucked Sunny into her scarf one last time, pressing her lips to the top of her head. “She’s the best thing I’ve ever raised,” she said softly.

“She’ll teach all the others how to drink from the fancy dish,” Everett whispered.

And just like that, the farm carriage arrived.

Wooden crates with soft straw. Gentle temperature charms. Big, gentle-eyed thestrals pulling the cart.

Professor Howin guided each student pair forward.

Some placed their chick in the straw quietly. Some sobbed. Some refused until the very last minute. Others whispered last words, pet names, promises.

And finally—

The cart rolled away.

Small peeps faded into the distance.

⸻

Later that night…

The castle was quiet.

Too quiet.

A suspicious kind of quiet that only meant someone was planning something illegal.

And that someone… was everyone.

“Is this really happening?” MC whispered, clutching her cloak tighter as she crept along the edge of the courtyard.

“We left them, MC,” Sebastian hissed beside her. “We’re getting them back.”

Across the grass, six shadowy figures emerged one by one.

“Code name is Featherstorm,” Garreth whispered. “Operation: Reunite.”

“You gave this a code name?!” Samantha hissed.

“I had time while sobbing.”

Duncan was already crying again. “She’s so cold out there.”

“They had enchanted straw, Duncan,” Poppy whispered.

“I DON’T TRUST STRAW.”

“Alright, everyone shut up,” Imelda snapped. “We’re breaking into a farm, not Azkaban.”

Leander held up a map. “The henhouse is on the far side. We follow the thestral path, disillusion at the gate, grab our babies, and go.”

Anne nodded. “No spells on the chicks. No loud noises. No dropping them. Ominis?”

“Wand’s ready. I’ve had enough of heartbreak.”

⸻

Twenty-seven minutes later…

Chaos.

Chirping.

Feathers.

Sunny was screaming. Pip was already inside Leander’s shirt. Scrambles was loose in the thestral paddock. Benedict refused to go in the bag and was pecking Sebastian’s shoulder like vengeance incarnate.

“GET THEM IN THE CRATE!” Natty hissed.

“They won’t go in!” Everett whispered. “They know they’re being abducted!”

“Reclaimed,” Poppy corrected.

Duncan tripped and fell on his face. “PUDDING IS MISSING I REPEAT—”

“She’s under your cloak,” Garreth grunted, trying to stuff her into a blanket. “She likes drama.”

“THEODORE BIT ME,” Ominis shouted.

“He missed you for twenty-four hours,” Natty snapped. “LET HIM PROCESS.”

“SCRAMBLES IS ASCENDING—” Imelda dove as her chick attempted to leap off a fence post. “She thinks she’s a phoenix!!”

Professor Howin, asleep in her quarters, stirred slightly.

Paused.

Then rolled over.

She knew something was wrong.

⸻

The next morning…

“And that,” Professor Sharp said dryly, staring at the sea of scattered hay and feathers in the Room of Requirement vivarium, “is why there are chickens in Hogwarts.”

“And why all of you,” Professor Howin added, arms folded, eyes narrow, “will be completing three weeks of extra credit work in Magical Beasts.”

“I regret nothing,” Sebastian said defiantly, holding Benedict like a baby.

“Me neither,” Duncan sniffled, snuggling Pudding under his chin.

“I’m not writing a reflection,” Imelda said. “I’m writing fanfiction.”

MC sighed. “I knew we should’ve just sent letters.”

Professor Howin muttered, “You’ll be sending apology owls to the farm. Every single one of you.”

Behind her, the soft chorus of peep-peep-peep filled the vivarium.

Pip tried to escape again.

Sunny looked deeply unimpressed.

Benedict was already pecking at someone’s essay draft.

Scrambles was standing on a table like she ruled it.

And Theodore?

Theodore fluffed his feathers, nestled into Ominis’ lap, and sighed.

Peacefully.

Chapter Text

Herbology



“All right, class!” Professor Garlick beamed, hands clapping together excitedly. “Today, I’m giving each of you a special seed. These are different kinds—some flowers, some herbs. Using the nurturing charm I taught you last week, you will care for your seedling over the next two weeks. Your midterm grade will be based on how well you’ve raised your plant.”

“I’m gonna ace this,” Sebastian muttered under his breath, already rolling up his sleeves like he was about to wrestle a mandrake.

Ominis sighed as he touched the rim of the clay pot before him. “I suppose this is better than tending a venomous tentacula. At least this won’t bite me.”

“It’s not bad. They’re nice,” MC said softly, fingers brushing over the glossy packet that held her mystery seed.

“…What?” Natty raised a brow, curious.

“…Nothing.” MC quickly shook her head, tucking the seed packet into her robe.

Leander huffed, puffing his chest. “I’ll get an Outstanding for sure.”

Samantha rolled her eyes with the force of a wind spell. “Yeah, right. You overwatered your puffapod last term.”

“I hope I get herbs,” Poppy said, already sounding hopeful. “Maybe dittany or something medicinal.”

Anne, seated beside her brother, reached for her packet with a wistful smile. “I’d like a flower. Something delicate.”

“Well… we won’t know,” Imelda said, voice clipped as she inspected her pot. “It’s a surprise.”

“So it’s luck too?” Everett hissed, glaring at his pot like.

“Yes!” Professor Garlick said brightly. “Each seed is charmed to only reveal its type when it’s properly planted. Your care determines its growth—and what it becomes.”

A murmur rippled through the class. Pots clinked, fingers fumbled with soil, and a gentle warmth bloomed through the greenhouse as wands lit with nurturing spells.

“So I heard from a seventh year…” Poppy leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper as she sprinkled soil into her pot. “…that some students sabotage other people’s plants.”

“Merlin!” MC hissed, nearly dropping her wand.

Sebastian’s head snapped up. “You’re joking.”

Poppy shook her head quickly. “I’m not! They said someone hexed a honeysuckle to sprout screaming roots during exams last year. Nearly blew out Garlick’s eardrums.”

“We should find our own hidden spots, huh?” Sebastian said, already eyeing the greenhouse like a battlefield. “Somewhere no one will find them.”

Leander scoffed from the other side. “That’s ridiculous. Who would stoop so low?”

Samantha didn’t even look up. “You, probably.”

“I would not!”

“Oh please.”

“I would not sabotage—”

“Leander, remember the time you fed fertilizer to my plant thinking it was yours?” Everett called from across the table.

“That was an accident!”

Professor Garlick clapped her hands gently. “All right, everyone, once you’ve planted your seed, feel free to find a spot in the greenhouse—or arrange with me to keep it in the side shed for safekeeping. But do remember: intentional sabotage will earn you a week scrubbing pots with Mr. Moon!”

The threat silenced the greenhouse briefly.

Ominis finally muttered, “Side shed. Definitely side shed.”

MC nodded slowly. “I don’t trust any of you.”

“Not even me?” Sebastian grinned.

“…Especially you.”

His grin only grew wider.

“Ugh. This is going to be chaos,” Anne murmured as her seed glowed softly in her soil. “And we haven’t even reached Day One.”

“Chaos makes things fun,” Imelda said cheerfully, her pot already tucked discreetly behind a stack of unused crates.

Day 7

“Ominis!” MC called, weaving past tall trays of blooming puffapods and potted gillyweed. “I haven’t seen your plant! What did it sprout into?”

“Well,” Ominis said, lowering his voice and tilting his head toward the far end of the greenhouse, “I hid it.”

MC blinked. “You what?”

“I don’t trust any of you,” he said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“Oh, come on,” MC groaned. “Let me see. Mine turned into the cutest little dandelion. Like it sneezes whenever I tap the soil.”

“Really? Huh. I still haven’t identified mine, to be honest. Maybe you can help?” Ominis turned slightly, wand gripped lightly in his hand. “Come. I stashed it behind the greenhouse, near the Glumbumbles. Figured no one would dare tamper with anything close to those grumpy little pests.”

“Merlin,” MC muttered with a chuckle, following close behind. “You are devious.”

“Survival instincts,” he said simply.

They ducked beneath hanging vines and skirted a suspiciously sentient toadstool tray before reaching a half-shaded patch nestled between tall hedges and a buzzing Glumbumble nest. Ominis knelt beside a covered pot and tapped it with his wand.

“Here. What do you think this is?”

MC crouched beside him and stared.

…

…

…

She blinked.

“…Uhm.”

“…What?” Ominis asked, expectant.

MC’s mouth opened, then shut.

Merlin’s sake… it’s a weed, she thought in panic. Wild, unruly, very green, and sprouting confidently like it had no shame. It looked like something that’d be pulled out of a path, not raised for a grade.

“It looks like… an herb,” MC said carefully. “I’m not entirely sure which one. But definitely an herb.”

Ominis’s face lit up. “I thought so too. It feels like it has luscious leaves.”

“…It does,” MC agreed quickly. That, at least, wasn’t a lie. It did have very luscious, large, floppy leaves. The kind that made people sneeze or fail exams.

Ominis gently brushed his fingers along its edges. “It’s grown fast, hasn’t it? I water it twice a day. And I hum.”

“You hum to it?” MC asked, her heart folding slightly.

“Well, yes. I figured if it’s going to listen to me, it should know I care.”

MC bit her lip.

It’s a weed, she thought miserably. A big, healthy, very loved weed.

And now it was her problem.

“You were right to hide this, Ominis,” MC said solemnly, crouching beside him as she stared at the… exuberantly thriving weed. “Many would be jealous.”

Ominis smiled, pleased. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She nodded, forcing a straight face. “The symmetry of those… um… leaves? Very… elegant.”

“I thought so!” Ominis beamed, brushing a bit of soil from the base. “I’ve been casting a moisture charm every morning, then humming something Anne used to play on the piano. I think it likes it.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does,” MC said, trying not to imagine Garlick’s expression if she ever laid eyes on it.

“And I think…” She paused dramatically, “I think I want in.”

He blinked. “What?”

“On your hiding space.” She gestured to the slightly overgrown alcove they’d ducked into. “It’s perfect. No one comes near the Glumbumbles. There’s shade. There’s peace. And I could use some of that. My dandelion sneezed on Leander earlier. He deserved it, but still.”

Ominis let out a soft chuckle. “You want to share my hiding spot?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands together. “Please. For the safety of my dandelion’s emotional well-being.”

He turned his head slightly, listening to her tone, then gave a little nod. “All right. You can place yours next to mine… but if it starts judging mine, it goes.”

“My dandelion is very inclusive,” MC promised. “She’s got no standards.”

They both laughed quietly, the Glumbumbles humming nearby like indifferent roommates.

“Thanks, Ominis,” she said, settling her pot gently beside his.

“For what?”

“…Letting me protect my plant beside yours.”

He didn’t reply right away, but after a moment, he murmured, “It feels good to take care of something.”

MC glanced at him.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It really does.”


Day 10

“Hey! MC! Ominis!” Sebastian jogged up, his robes a little muddy and his sleeves rolled up like he’d been wrestling with a mandrake. “Can I see your plant? I haven’t gotten a look at it yet. Mine grew up to be parsley!”

“Well, that is useful,” MC said, barely masking a grin.

“Right?!” Sebastian beamed. “I’m going to use it to season everything. Even my tea. Anne told me to stop, but I’m not going to.”

“I believe you,” Ominis said flatly.

Everett popped up from behind a crate, nearly tripping on a rake. “Mine was an onion!” he cackled. “It keeps trying to burrow into other people’s pots. Chaotic little thing.”

“Sounds like you,” Anne muttered.

“Well—” Sebastian clapped his hands together and turned back to Ominis, eyes glinting. “Come on then. Show me yours.”

“I… don’t think you should show him your plant, Ominis,” MC said quickly, stepping half in front of him.

“What? Why?” Sebastian blinked.

“Why?” Ominis echoed, brows furrowing.

“…He’ll be jealous,” MC said solemnly.

There was a beat of silence.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Jealous?”

“Uncontrollably,” MC nodded. “It’s… Ominis’s plant is… flourishing. In a way that would absolutely ruin your self-esteem. I’m just protecting you.”

Ominis blinked. “Really?”

“Yes.” MC said, too quickly. “I mean, the leaf-to-soil ratio alone? Devastating.”

Sebastian looked between the two of them, suspicious. “You’re hiding something.”

“She’s not wrong,” Ominis said smugly, puffing his chest just a little. “MC says it has luscious leaves.”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “Luscious?! LUSCIOUS?! What am I going to do with parsley when your plant has luscious leaves?!”

“You can garnish his,” Everett suggested helpfully.

MC cleared her throat. “Anyway, we’ve got Glumbumble patrol later. Very elite. Can’t be late.”

“Are you two actually Glumbumble-wrangling together now?” Anne asked.

“It’s a sacred pact,” MC said gravely. “Very hush hush.”

Sebastian stood there, dramatically betrayed. “Unbelievable. Parsley. Parsley!”

MC was already pulling Ominis away by the sleeve. “Come on Mr. Green thumb. Back to the lair.”

“I told you it has presence,” Ominis said smugly as they disappeared behind the greenhouse.


Day 12

“Sebastian!” Garreth hissed, crouching low behind a towering tray of flutterby bushes. He tugged at Sebastian’s robe as the latter crept toward the Glumbumble-infested path like a man on a mission. “I don’t think we should be sneaking behind MC’s back  to see Ominis’ plant!”

Sebastian didn’t stop. “Garreth. He said it had luscious leaves. I need to know.”

“Did you forget who she is?!” Garreth whisper-yelled. “She hexed Leander last month for bumping her inkpot—accidentally. You think she won’t know we’re here?!”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, looking supremely unbothered. “That was justified. He sneezed on her essay.”

“She turned his quill into a flobberworm.”

“A talking flobberworm,” Sebastian added, almost proudly.

Garreth buried his face in his hands. “We’re going to die.”

“Relax,” Sebastian said, waving his wand to muffle their steps. “I just want a peek. I’m not going to touch it.”

“We shouldn’t even be here. Glumbumbles hate intruders. I still have scars from that one time I accidentally wore citrus cologne in the greenhouse—”

“Shhh!” Sebastian motioned for him to get down. “Look. There. That little archway. That’s where she and Ominis sneak off every day.”

“You make it sound like a crime,” Garreth muttered.

“Well, it is now,” Sebastian whispered as they crept closer, ducking behind a crate of toadstools and then under a rusting watering pipe. “Think about it. Everyone’s plants are sprouting normal stuff—basil, mint, daisies. Ominis? Luscious mystery plant. And MC’s guarding it like a dragon with mood swings.”

Garreth paused. “You don’t think it’s… cursed or something, do you?”

“I think,” Sebastian said grimly, “that I’m sick of not knowing. And if Ominis gets an Outstanding because he accidentally nurtured a magical strain of, I don’t know, seductive devil’s ivy, I will scream.”

They both peeked around the corner—just as a glumbumble hovered past ominously.

Garreth flinched. “I swear it just looked at me. We’re going to get stung and hexed.”

“I’d risk it for the truth.”

“You would.”


Day 12

“I think this is it,” Sebastian whispered triumphantly, crouching beside a suspiciously shrouded pot tucked beneath a mossy shelf. “It’s covered. Why would you cover a plant unless you’re hiding something magnificent?”

Garreth hung back, nervously glancing around. “Or cursed.”

“Same thing,” Sebastian muttered, already reaching for the cloth. “Alright, let’s see these luscious leaves…”

He yanked the cover off.

POOF!

A burst of green smoke exploded from the pot. Runes lit up in spiraling formation and a strange whistling noise filled the air like a kettle having a breakdown.

“MERLIN’S TITS!” Sebastian yelled, stumbling back into a pile of old buckets.

“Sebastian!” Garreth coughed violently as the green mist clung to his face. “What the hell—”

“…YOUR HAIR IS GREEN!” Garreth shouted suddenly, eyes wide.

Sebastian blinked at him. “YOUR HAIR IS GREEN!”

“BLOODY— THIS WAS A TRAP! THIS WAS A TRAP!!”

Somewhere, a glumbumble buzzed lazily past, utterly unfazed.

Garreth pulled out a mirror shard from his robe and screamed. “I look like a cursed broccoli!”

Sebastian’s face turned an impressive shade of murder. “MC. She knew someone would snoop.”

“And she booby-trapped it?!”

“With ancient magic probably! Look at us! We’re like… rejected mandrakes!”

Garreth began furiously patting his hair. “Is this permanent?! Am I going to have to graduate looking like a Slytherin cactus?!”

“Shhh—someone’s coming!” Sebastian hissed.

From behind the hedges, a familiar voice drifted in.

“…Do you smell burnt mint?”

“…No. But I feel suspiciously smug,” MC said, and Ominis chuckled.

Sebastian dove into the bushes, dragging Garreth with him.

“This isn’t over,” Sebastian swore under his breath, trying to wipe the green from his scalp with a leaf.

“Speak for yourself,” Garreth whimpered. “I just want to survive the semester.”


Day 13


“MC!” Sebastian’s voice echoed through the Central Hall like thunder before a storm.

MC turned, hand still flipping lazily through her book.

There they were—Sebastian and Garreth, storming toward her with damp robes, furious glares, and very green hair that gleamed under the ceiling lights like freshly polished moss.

A ripple of snorts and laughter trailed behind them as students paused mid-step to take in the sight.

“Merlin!” Anne wheezed from the stairs, gripping the railing for support. “Are you two the new Slytherin mascots?! Do we clap now or—?”

“So,” MC said sweetly, snapping her book shut, “was it worth it?”

“Remove it, please,” Garreth begged, dragging his feet like a shamed garden gnome. “I am a redhead, not a greenhead. This is genetic blasphemy!”

“I look like I’m about to sprout cosmos!” Sebastian hissed, pointing dramatically to his head.

“Oh! Good idea,” Natty piped in from behind, flicking her wand.

Poof.

Tiny pastel cosmos bloomed in neat little tufts across Sebastian’s scalp, swaying gently with each outraged breath.

There was a pause.

Then: “NATTY!” Sebastian shouted, his voice a strangled squeak.

The entire corridor exploded in laughter.

“Stop moving, you’ll shake the petals,” Samantha giggled.

Garreth looked at him and burst out laughing. “You look like a bloody springtime wreath!”

“I WILL CURSE EVERYONE HERE,” Sebastian roared.

“You touched the pot, didn’t you?” MC asked smugly, arms crossed. “I told Ominis to let me rune a fake one. This is on you.”

“Who booby-traps a plant?” Garreth barked.

“Someone who knows you two can’t keep your noses in your own dirt.” MC rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. It’ll wear off… eventually.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘eventually.’”

“Somewhere between ‘before finals’ and ‘never.’”

Garreth made a strangled noise. “I’m going to die like this. In green. With him.”

“Oh relax,” Anne said, plucking one of the cosmos from Sebastian’s head and tucking it behind her ear. “You’re adorable. Very… bloomy.”

Sebastian looked like he was about to combust.

MC smirked.

“Adorable.”


Day 14


The greenhouse buzzed with quiet excitement, students flitting between pots, casting last-minute charms, misting leaves, and begging their plants to look a little perkier. It was the final day. The grading day.

And MC… had run out of options.

She stared at Ominis’s pot earlier that morning, heart torn in twenty directions. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t replace the weed with a prettier herb or a dazzling flower. He had poured his care into that pot—tenderly, earnestly, humming to it like a lullaby.

There were maybe other choices… cleverer ones, safer ones… but this was the one she’d chosen.

For his pride.

And for those stupid, shiny leaves.

So she sent him off with a fabricated message—“Professor Weasley’s looking for you. Something about… uh, Ancient Runes and not being registered for… something”—and dashed to the greenhouse where the others had already gathered.

Everyone was there. Poppy gently adjusted her flowering thyme. Anne spritzed her lilies with a lavender-infused mist. Garreth was chewing on Sebastian’s parsley. (Still green-haired.) And Sebastian stood off to the side, cosmos drooping dramatically around his temple like a grief-stricken spring bride.

“OKAY LISTEN TO ME, YOU LOT!” MC shouted, slamming her palm on the worktable. Several students jumped. Samantha nearly flung her aloe vera.

“Ominis will arrive with his plant.” MC paced in front of them like a general before a very delicate battle. “And you… will only say nice things.”

“…Huh?” Imelda blinked.

“ONLY. NICE. THINGS,” MC repeated, eyes glowing with imminent threat. “If I hear one single negative thing—one eyebrow raise, one snort, one muttered insult—I will hex you so hard your great-grandchildren will come out sneezing glitter.”

“Bit extreme—” Everett started.

“I will turn your hair corn-yellow until graduation.” MC snapped. “Comprende?”

The group stared at her.

Anne slowly raised her hand. “Like… buttery corn? Or, like… boiled?”

“Boiled in shame.”

“…Right.”

“Do I make myself clear?” MC growled, glaring daggers at Sebastian and Garreth in particular, who looked like they were very close to mouthing off.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Garreth sighed, holding his hands up.

“Nice things only,” Sebastian mumbled. “Flowers and fluff and lies. Got it.”

“Good,” MC said, smoothing her robes and exhaling deeply.

Right then, the door creaked open.

Ominis stepped in, carefully cradling his pot. The weed was… thriving. Bold. Triumphant. Absolutely unaware it was not meant to be graded.

MC turned and gave everyone a look.

Smiles flickered on.

Imelda coughed and forced a thumbs-up.

“Ominis!” Anne beamed. “Wow. Your plant looks… abundant!”

“It’s very… assertive,” Poppy added quickly.

“Vibrant,” Samantha said, nodding like she was convincing herself.

Garreth elbowed Sebastian.

Sebastian plastered on the fakest grin known to wizardkind. “You know… I see it now. Luscious indeed.”

Ominis, glowing, took his place proudly. “Thank you. I’ve been humming to it every morning.”

MC smiled.

“How will you pull this off?” Natty hissed, eyes darting toward Ominis, who stood a few feet away proudly dusting the rim of his pot with the corner of his robe. The weed inside swayed happily, full and lush and absolutely ungradeable.

MC didn’t flinch. She leaned in closer, whisper sharp as a blade. “Don’t worry. Garlick always makes us line up the pots for inspection, right?”

Natty nodded slowly. “…Yes?”

“So I’ll just—” MC tapped the air lightly with her wand “—switch Ominis’s nameplate with mine.”

Natty’s brows flew up. “What?!”

MC shrugged, casual as if she weren’t planning academic fraud in broad daylight. “It’s fine. I’ll just make up for it during finals.”

“MC,” Natty hissed again, glancing around. “That’s—are you hearing yourself? That’s a weed. You’re going to take the grade hit for him?”

MC exhaled softly. “He loves that thing. I’m not about to let him hear it’s worthless from someone with a clipboard.”

There was a pause.

Then Natty said, very slowly, “You are unhinged.”

“I’m right,” MC muttered. “Unhinged and right.”

At that moment, Professor Garlick clapped her hands near the front.

“Wonderful work, everyone! Let’s begin, shall we?” she said, beaming. “Please line up your pots along the center table. Nameplates facing forward. I’ll begin grading shortly.”

Students bustled into motion, levitating pots forward, adjusting angles, and whispering last-minute encouragements to their plants.

MC slipped in beside Ominis.

“I’ll help you carry yours,” she offered quickly.

“Oh, thank you,” he said gratefully, handing it over without hesitation. “Mind the roots—they get twitchy when disturbed.”

Got it, MC thought grimly, placing the pot in the center row… right next to her own.

And then, wand low, voice a whisper of spell—

The gold plaques shimmered.

Ominis Gaunt’s name slid under her pot.

And MC’s name nestled under the proud, luscious, very stupid weed.

She stepped back.

Natty looked at her like she’d just committed murder in a petting zoo.

Sebastian raised a brow suspiciously.

But Ominis?

Ominis smiled.

“Can’t wait to hear what she says,” he whispered, hands folded behind his back, heart absolutely full.

MC swallowed.

“Me too.”

___


Professor Garlick glided down the center row, her long skirts brushing the tiled floor, curls bouncing with each step and hands clasped behind her back like a cheery yet judgmental daisy.

“Ohh… what a pretty lily,” she cooed, stopping before Anne’s pot. “And that soft lavender scent… beautifully done, Miss Sallow.”

Anne smiled modestly. “Thank you, Professor.”

Next up was Poppy.

“Oh! Thyme! A medicinal classic,” Garlick beamed. “Well-hydrated, no signs of wilting. You’ve been speaking kindly to it, haven’t you?”

Poppy nodded. “I sing to it.”

“Wonderful. Plants adore a bit of music.”

Then she reached Everett’s.

“…An onion.”

“A proud onion,” Everett said defensively. “It burrows. It… has spirit.”

“It’s… very round,” Professor Garlick said politely, poking it with her wand. It growled. “Ah. A bit feisty, too. How unique.”

Next was Samantha’s.

“Oh, foxglove! Dangerous, but elegant. Well-tamed. Your magic control has improved, Miss Dale.”

Samantha preened.

Then came Leander’s.

“…Is this kale?”

“I think so?”

“It looks like it’s plotting something.”

“It is.”

Professor Garlick gave it a wary nod and shuffled past.

Next—Samantha’s again.

“Miss Dale, how many pots did you submit?”

“I—this one’s for my cousin—”

“Right.”

She moved on.

Sebastian puffed up as she reached his.

“Ah, Mr. Sallow! Parsley?”

“Yes!” he said proudly. “Robust, isn’t it? Grown with precision and, er, simmering rage.”

Professor Garlick tilted her head, inspecting it. “Well… it’s certainly enthusiastic. And it appears edible.”

“It is. I’ve tested it.”

“I… see.”

Garreth stood next to him, already red (or green) in the face.

“Parsley’s boring,” he muttered. “Mine’s bolder.”

“Let’s see then…” Professor Garlick stepped forward.

She blinked.

“…Another onion.”

“Yes!” Garreth said proudly. “Bigger than Everett’s. See the layering? That’s love.”

“It’s slightly leaking.”

“That’s passion.”

“Mm-hmm.” She smiled with the politeness of someone trying not to inhale. “Extra points for creativity.”

Imelda had what looked like aggressively wilted mint.

“Did you… throw it against a wall?” Professor Garlick asked.

“It fell. Multiple times.”

“Well, at least it smells invigorating.”

Professor Garlick continued down the line, complimenting, noting, occasionally squinting with concern—until she reached the last pair of pots.

She stopped.

Professor Garlick crouched beside the pot labeled “Ominis Gaunt,” her eyes lighting up like she’d just seen a phoenix hatch from a turnip.

“Ohhh… what a healthy plant!” she gasped, clapping her hands softly in delight. “Look at that vibrancy! Such plump leaves! Such confidence in its growth! And—my goodness—it has a bloom!”

“…It has a bloom?” Ominis asked, brows furrowed, leaning in.

“Yes,” MC said quickly, slipping in beside him and lowering her voice. “Looks like we just didn’t notice it before. Probably… because of the, err… luscious leaves.”

Ominis nodded slowly, visibly proud. “Ah. That makes sense.”

From two spots over, Sebastian snorted.

MC snapped her head toward him, glaring.

“Don’t.” she mouthed with deadly precision.

Ominis, unaware of the storm brewing behind him, tilted his head curiously. “What is it, then?”

MC smiled. “It’s a dandelion. Just like mine.”

Ominis lit up. “Oh!”

“Yes,” she said, voice sweet, eyes still locked murderously on Sebastian. “But yours is… healthier.”

Sebastian made a choking sound behind his hand.

Imelda was dying.

She had turned completely away, shoulders vibrating, face buried in her sleeve as she tried to smother the sound of her own snort-laughter.

Everett had bitten his lip so hard it looked like he was holding in a blood oath.

Professor Garlick continued, utterly unaware. “Such even growth. You must have nurtured this with real love, Mr. Gaunt.”

“I hummed to it,” Ominis said proudly. “Every morning.”

“Well, it certainly shows. Outstanding work.”

MC felt the guilt curl tight in her chest… but not enough to let the truth ruin this moment.

Not when Ominis was beaming like the bloody sun.

Professor Garlick stepped over to the last pot—the one labeled “Ms. MC,” which now, of course, held the weed.

She paused.

Then tilted her head slowly, lips pressing together with that particular smile teachers wear when they’re trying to figure out if they’re being pranked.

“Let’s see… Ms. MC.” She crouched, wand delicately brushing along the edge of the aggressively thriving leaves.

…

…

…

“MC… do you know what this is?” Professor Garlick asked gently, though there was an undeniable edge of pity in her voice.

MC swallowed. “I just— I learned late.”

Ominis turned his head. “What?”

“I—my dandelion got… taken over by a… weed,” MC muttered.

From beneath the worktable, Garreth’s snort echoed like a trumpet. He was now fully crouched down, gripping the table leg for dear life, wheezing into his scarf.

“Oh dear,” Professor Garlick said, tapping the rim of the pot. “Well, tending to weeds is just as important as growing flowers. Learning to recognize and remove them before they invade the pot is a key skill.”

“Yeah,” MC said flatly. “I’ll… remember that.”

Ominis leaned slightly closer. “Wait. What? You really only noticed late?”

MC nodded slowly. “It sort of… disguised itself with… enthusiasm.”

Sebastian had turned away, hunched over, one hand slapping his thigh as his silent laughter threatened to dislodge his entire ribcage.

Garlick stood up, giving the pot one last look. “A pity, really. You had excellent soil conditions. But I’ll have to deduct points for not identifying or clearing it.”

“Of course,” MC said, eyes dead to the world.

Ominis frowned faintly. “…You’re not usually that careless.”

“I’m tired,” MC said. “And I’m very supportive of weeds now.”

Anne coughed hard, clearly pretending it was allergies.

Garreth, still under the table, squeaked, “Luscious.”

MC stomped once under the table. “Shut it.”

Professor Garlick turned. “Alright then! Grades will be posted tomorrow. Lovely work, everyone!”

__


Students were filing out, chatting, laughing, some still looking shell-shocked (Garreth was wheeled out by Anne, still weak from laughter).

MC lingered, arms crossed, brow furrowed, staring down at the weed.

“I’ll help you for finals,” Ominis said suddenly, quietly.

MC looked up.

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“I want to,” he replied, a soft smile on his lips. “Don’t worry.”

“…Thank you,” MC murmured, heart twisting just a little.

“Can you help me cut off the bloom?” Ominis asked, hand reaching toward the pot they thought was his. “I’d like to give it to you. To cheer you up.”

MC froze.

“…Sure,” she managed, pulling her wand slowly. With a delicate flick, she trimmed the little bloom.

Ominis held out his hand and gently offered it to her. “For you.”

MC took it, pressing it softly between her fingers. “Thank you.”

“You were right. Dandelions are nice,” he said.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “They really are.”

She tucked the bloom into her satchel.

Then, nodding toward the back hedge, she added, “Now… how about we take our pots back to the hiding spot?”

“Of course,” Ominis said brightly.

MC turned away quickly, face hot.

This was now officially the most emotionally complex weed she’d ever met.

Chapter Text

The Undercroft – Late Afternoon

Anne, Sebastian, MC, and Ominis sat lazily around the battered couch and crates they’d claimed as furniture. Candles flickered low. The magical gloom of the Undercroft was oddly cozy—perfect for homework avoidance and bad ideas.

“So I’m thinking,” Sebastian announced, arms behind his head, legs spread like he owned the floor, “I’ll get a tattoo for my eighteenth birthday.”

Ominis didn’t even look up from his book. “That’s stupid.”

Anne blinked. “Agreed.”

“What?! Why?” Sebastian leaned forward, his grin only widening. “It’s gonna be hot. Right, MC?” He slung an arm around her shoulders, all casual bravado.

MC calmly pinched the offending arm and shoved it off.

“It’ll hurt,” she said flatly.

Sebastian scoffed. “I don’t care for pain.”

MC slowly turned to look at him. Her hand rose in eerie silence—then pinched his sideburns up with surgical precision.

“OW— MERLIN’S BOLLOCKS!” Sebastian yowled, flailing like he’d been hit with a Reducto.

Anne wheezed, nearly falling backward off the crate. Ominis had lowered his book exactly one inch.

“You can’t even handle that!” MC said, arms crossed. “What more a tattoo?!”

“It’s the surprise pain!” Sebastian growled, rubbing his head. “Tattoos are expected pain! Totally different category!”

“Oh yes,” Ominis drawled. “Sudden pinch: unbearable. Magical needle repeatedly stabbing you with burning ink: sensual. Makes sense.”

“Exactly!” Sebastian said, missing the sarcasm completely.

Anne wiped a tear from her eye. “You’ll probably cry.”

“I will not cry.”

MC leaned back, deadpan. “You cried when the biscuit cart ran out of custard creams last week.”

“THAT WAS A DARK DAY,” Sebastian yelled.



“FINE!” MC snapped. “What will you get, then?”

Sebastian sat up straighter, eyes alight like he’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“…A serpent, of course.”

“Well, you are Slytherin,” Anne said, unimpressed. “Kinda generic, though.”

“No no no,” Sebastian said, gesturing wildly now. “Listen—head of the serpent right above my torso, chest area. Then the body wraps around my ribs, and the tail—”

“I beg you not to continue that thought,” Ominis interrupted sharply, not even looking up. “Wherever that tail ends, I want no part of it.”

Anne gagged. “Oh EW, Sebastian!”

MC grimaced. “That is so obviously designed to seduce girls.”

Sebastian leaned back smugly, wiggling his eyebrows. “…Well… will it work?”

There was a full beat of silence.

…

…

“I mean, not on anyone with standards,” MC said.

“I have standards!” he argued.

“You were going to get a torso-tail snake, Sebastian,” Anne said dryly. “I share your DNA and even I’m disturbed.”

“Torso-tail is a phrase I never wanted to hear,” Ominis muttered.

“I just think it would look cool!” Sebastian protested. “Dark. Mysterious. Maybe even… a little dangerous.”

“You cried when MC pinched your sideburns,” Ominis deadpanned.

Sebastian threw his hands up. “I wasn’t expecting the betrayal!”

MC grinned. “You should get a tattoo that says ‘Emotionally Fragile.’ With sparkles.”

“I’m getting the snake,” Sebastian declared stubbornly. “And it will be hot.”

“I give it two weeks before it slithers into regret,” Anne said.



“Well if you lot decide to get one too, what would you get?” Sebastian asked, arms crossed, clearly convinced everyone should want body art now that he had committed to torso-serpent madness.

“I won’t,” Anne said flatly. “But if I had to… a swallow.”

“Because it sounds like Sallow?” Ominis asked dryly.

“Yes,” Anne replied with the blankness of someone who’s tired of explaining her wit.

“…Boring,” Sebastian said immediately, earning a sharp slap from Anne’s pillow to his face.

“And you, Ominis?” Sebastian asked, muffled.

“Well,” Ominis said coolly, “I can’t see it. So what’s the point?”

“Someone else can see it,” Sebastian smirked.

There was a pause. Ominis raised one elegant brow. “…I will choose not to unpack that.”

“Please don’t,” Anne mumbled.

“Hmm…” Ominis tilted his head thoughtfully. “Probably something in Latin. Maybe over my ribs. Simple. Classic. A phrase.”

“Boring again,” Sebastian groaned. “You two are killing me.”

“Not everything needs to slither near the groin to have meaning,” Ominis said serenely.

Sebastian flipped him off.

Then turned, expectantly, to MC. “How about you? What would you get?”

MC leaned back, thoughtful. “Hmm. I’d want something small. Ancient runes. Something subtle.”

“Where?” Sebastian asked.

MC paused.

“…A hidden place.”

Sebastian blinked. “Wh—why hidden?”

MC gave him a slow, eerie smile. “It’s like an identification mark, you know. If I die horribly and can’t be recognized… that’s how you’ll know it’s me.”

Ominis closed his book. “Well. That escalated.”

Anne side-eyed Sebastian. “Your mind went elsewhere, didn’t it?”

He didn’t reply.

“I bet it’s filthy and disgusting,” she said.

Sebastian coughed and looked away.

“Confirmed,” Ominis said without missing a beat.



MC shook her head, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. “Well… either way, Sebastian. You do know tattoos cost a lot, right? Especially a big one like you’re planning.”

Sebastian blinked. “Like… how much?”

Ominis didn’t even look up. “More than your dignity. Which is already in short supply.”

Anne smirked. “You want the whole torso to hip saga, right? That’s going to cost at least a few galleons. Maybe more if it’s magical and animated.”

Sebastian looked genuinely horrified. “Wait. Animated costs extra?!”

“Of course it does,” MC said. “You think ink that moves seductively with your abs just happens?”

“I thought that was part of the charm!”

“Nope,” Ominis said. “That’s a premium.”

Sebastian ran a hand down his face. “Bloody hell. Do they take payment plans?”

“You cannot finance a snake tattoo,” Anne said, nearly shrieking.

MC smirked. “What are you gonna do? Walk in with a voucher? ‘Excuse me, sir, I’d like one seductive serpent in three installments.’”

Sebastian muttered under his breath. “…Maybe I’ll just draw it on first and see if it works.”

Ominis sighed. “I take it back. Definitely boring would have been better.”


____



The next day, as usual, they reconvened in the Undercroft. Anne had come prepared with a book, Ominis with sarcastic sighs, and MC with a stomach ready for secondhand embarrassment.

Sebastian, however, looked pleased.

Far too pleased.

“HA!” he declared, dramatically flinging his robe aside as he strode into the middle of the room. “Behold! I commissioned a great artist from Hufflepuff to draw it!”

“What?” Anne blinked.

Sebastian turned his back toward them, grinning madly. “Ladies and gentleman—prepare yourselves.”

Then—with a flourish—he whipped off his top.

…

…

…

There was silence.

Profound, tragic silence.

Anne tilted her head slowly. “Were you… scammed? What great artist? A first year with a crayon?”

“Describe it to me,” Ominis said grimly, like he was bracing for news of a corpse.

MC opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Tried again.

“…It looks like a… garden snake. With scoliosis.”

Sebastian spun around, chest out. “It’s coiled dramatically!”

“No,” MC said slowly, “it’s… struggling. It looks like it fell down the stairs.”

“Is that… googly eyes?” Anne squinted.

Sebastian looked down at the cartoonishly wide-eyed serpent on his side, its tongue sticking out at a very non-threatening angle.

“They’re expressive,” he muttered.

“It looks like it wants a cuddle,” MC deadpanned.

“I told him to make it look menacing!”

“You look like you adopted a lost pet noodle,” Anne said.

Ominis pressed a hand to his face. “So just to clarify… you paid someone… to draw a diseased worm on your torso.”

Sebastian yanked his shirt back on. “You know what? No one appreciates visionary art.”

“Oh, we appreciate it,” MC said. “Like how people appreciate crime scenes.”

Anne nodded

. “Truly. I’ll cherish the memory of this… forever. I may even sketch it myself later. Title it ‘Serpent in Existential Crisis.’”

“Fine,” Sebastian huffed, dramatically flopping onto a crate. “Next time I’ll go to someone in Ravenclaw.”

“Next time?” Ominis asked, horrified.

“There cannot be a next time,” MC said.

“Imagine the sequel tattoo,” Anne mused. “An eagle with anxiety.”

“You’re all monsters,” Sebastian mumbled, curling into his wounded-artist sulk.

“Monsters,” MC agreed sweetly. “With taste.”

Chapter Text

Sebastian strode down the corridor, mildly annoyed and dramatically burdened by responsibility.

“Where the bloody hell is Imelda…” he muttered. “Madam Kogawa’s looking to finalize the roster, and the last thing I need is—”

He stopped mid-step. There it was—giggling.

He smirked.

A sure sign of something he could ruin.

He turned the corner—perfect.

There they were, all huddled together like a coven prepping for a blood ritual: MC, Anne, Natty, Poppy, Imelda, Samantha, Adelaide, and Nerida. All of them in a tight circle, squealing, whispering, holding mirrors and—

“…Hey girls!” Sebastian announced, loud and proud. “What are you up to? Imelda—Madam Kogawa’s looking for—”

They turned in unison.

Sebastian staggered back like he’d walked into a dragon’s nest.

“DID SOMEONE PUNCH ALL OF YOU?!”

Imelda immediately raised a hand. “I will punch you.”

“No seriously!” Sebastian held his hands up. “Who did this to all of you? Was it Garreth’s potion? Tell me now, I’ll hex him into next week.”

MC rolled her eyes. “It’s rouge, Sebastian.”

…

Sebastian stared.

“…Are you sure? Are you not cursed? There’s no gloss-based jinx I should know about?”

MC raised a brow. “Why? Does it not look good?”

He squinted, looking from face to face.

“You lot look like Everett’s lips when his mouth got stuck on that butterbeer bottle last month! Why is it so bright?!”

Poppy looked horrified. “Is it too bright?”

“It’s giving… blood pact,” Sebastian said.

Natty crossed her arms. “And yet you’re still staring.”

“I’m concerned!” Sebastian argued. “You could lead a cosmetic rebellion with those mouths!”

Anne snorted. “Jealous?”

Sebastian paused. “…I could pull off rouge.”

Everyone collectively: “No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah? Try me,” Sebastian challenged, marching forward like he was about to duel a troll.

He plopped himself right in the middle of the girl circle, legs spread, arms over his knees.

“Fine,” MC said, already pulling out the rouge pot again.

Sebastian picked it up and blinked at the shiny crimson smear inside. “Apply it for me. I don’t know how to use this. What is this, wax? Pig’s blood?”

MC sighed, took the pot, dipped her finger in and cupped his chin.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

Sebastian absolutely moved.

“Oh, I like this distance,” he said smugly, eyes gleaming like he was flirting with death itself. “We should talk like this more often. It’s very… intimate.”

MC froze mid-application and slowly turned to look at Anne.

Anne didn’t even look up from buffing her nails. “I don’t know. He’s been disgusting lately.”

“I heard that,” Sebastian said, lips half-coated and shiny. “And I feel pretty.”

“Let’s hope you look better than you sound,” Samantha muttered.

Poppy tilted her head. “Honestly… it’s not terrible.”

“HE HAS NO UPPER LIP,” Imelda declared.

MC stepped back, evaluating.

“Hmm. It’s giving…” she squinted.

“Scandalous governess with poor life choices,” Anne offered.

“Yes. That.”

Sebastian beamed, lips now gleaming like a cursed cherry.

“No… he’s right,” Adelaide said, squinting. “It is too bright. Like… broom-light reflector bright.”

“Thank you!” Sebastian gestured to her like she’d finally spoken sense.

Adelaide rummaged through her bag and pulled out another little pot. “Here. MC, try this shade—it might darken it a bit. Less ‘possessed mannequin,’ more ‘dark mysterious idiot.’”

MC took it. “Alright. Sit still again.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Wait, you’re not experimenting on my lips now, are you?”

There was a pause.

MC shrugged. “You’re already here.”

Imelda snorted. “You volunteered. There’s no going back now. You’re basically our canvas.”

“You’re fine art,” Anne said with a deadpan voice. “Just… very cursed.”

Sebastian groaned but tilted his head up obediently. “If I end up looking like I kissed Leander's hair, I’m blaming all of you.”

MC smiled, carefully layering the darker shade over the obnoxious red. It toned it down—marginally. The gloss now looked more broody villain than exploding tomato.

“There,” she said, leaning back. “You look like you sell illegal love potions in Knockturn Alley now.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian said proudly. “That’s the vibe I was going for.”

Poppy held up a mirror.

Sebastian stared.

“…I look like I make dramatic entrances and say things like ‘you’ll regret crossing me, darling.’”

“You already do that,” Natty pointed out.

Imelda nodded. “Now you just have the lips to match the personality.”


“Sebastian! Imelda!” Madam Kogawa’s voice rang down the corridor, sharp as a whistle. “Did I not say to meet me? Why do I have to—”

She turned the corner.

She stopped.

They all turned to look at her, like deer caught in lumos.

Sebastian.

Imelda.

MC.

Anne.

Natty.

Poppy.

Samantha.

Adelaide.

Nerida.

All frozen mid-laugh. Mid-mirror. Mid-rouge.

Sebastian’s lips still glistening.

There was a long, long pause.

…

Madam Kogawa blinked.

Slowly took in the bright lips.

The open pots.

Sebastian’s shirt still somehow half unbuttoned.

…

“…All of you.” she said calmly. “Detention.”

MC: “I can explain—”

“No.”

Anne: “It’s not what it looks like—”

“It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Sebastian: “Does it count if I look fantastic?”

“Double detention.”

“Fair.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Ominis, mate!” Garreth’s voice rang out far too cheerfully.

Ominis barely turned his head. “What do you want.”

“Nothing! Nothing! Just… you know… wanna hang out.”

Sebastian snorted. “Hang out my arse. You’ve got two idiots trailing behind you.”

Leander and Everett both waved awkwardly, about five steps behind Garreth like sheep that had wandered out of the barn.

“I’m not an idiot,” Leander muttered.

“You tripped on air this morning,” Everett reminded him.

“Shut up.”

Sebastian pointed dramatically. “See? Herd of idiots.”

Garreth ignored all of it and slung an arm over Ominis’s shoulders like they were best mates since birth. “Sooo, here’s the thing. I may have heard some Beauxbatons students are arriving next week…”

“And?” Ominis said flatly.

“And I may want to impress them. And I may know you’re fluent in French.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“So!” Garreth pressed on, ignoring the death glare from both boys. “Will you tutor us? Just, you know, the basics. Greetings. Compliments. Subtle seduction phrases.”

“Absolutely not,” Ominis said.

“I WILL GIVE YOU SO MUCH SWEETS,” Garreth said, now on the edge of desperation. “You’ll curse me! Your teeth will ache! Your blood sugar will ascend to the heavens—”

“I’m going to curse you without the sweets,” Ominis deadpanned.

Sebastian sighed. “This is going to end with someone accidentally proposing to a professor, isn’t it?”

“I promise it’ll be innocent!” Garreth said quickly. “Just a little boNjoURrr, mademoiselle, a little voulez-vous—”

“Stop talking.” Ominis said, turning slightly. “Now.”

“Is that French?” Leander asked, excited.

“No,” Ominis said, “that was a warning.”

Everett blinked. “Sounds seductive.”


“You know what, Ominis?” Sebastian said, voice low as they walked. “This might actually be fun. Plus…” he leaned closer, “our sweets barrel in the Undercroft is almost empty.”

Ominis sighed like a man being asked to babysit feral nifflers. “Fine. But only innocent phrases.”

“Of course!” Garreth grinned like a man who was definitely going to ignore that condition later.

Behind him, Everett and Leander high-fived, missing completely and then high-fiving their own thighs.

“I’ll watch,” Sebastian said, leaning on a nearby pillar.

“What? You’re not learning with us?” Leander asked.

“Nah,” Sebastian shrugged. “I’ve got my Gaelic. I’m good.”

There was a pause.

“…So MC likes Gaelic, huh?” Leander asked innocently.

Sebastian’s smile froze.

“Yes—NO! Shut up.”

“Oh?” Ominis raised a brow. “She likes Gaelic?”

“I don’t know! Who knows! She loves English!” Sebastian said, instantly unraveling. “The language, I mean! Literature. Books. Novels!”

“Hmm,” Ominis hummed with far too much interest.

Sebastian glared at him. “Don’t hmm me.”

“Okay,” Garreth clapped his hands. “Your romantic crisis aside—when should we start?”

“Let’s meet at the Clocktower Courtyard,” Ominis said. “After class.”

“Oui oui, professor!” Everett said.

“Don’t,” Ominis said.

Leander gave a double thumbs-up. “We’re gonna seduce so many Beauxbatons girls.”

“No, you’re going to butcher French and probably cause an international incident,” Sebastian muttered.

And so it began.

___


The courtyard clock chimed overhead as Sebastian, Ominis, Leander, Everett, and Garreth gathered at the grassy edge of the courtyard.

“Alright,” Sebastian said, rubbing his hands together. “Where’s the stash?”

“…Here,” Garreth grunted, digging into his satchel and pulling out a dangerously overstuffed paper bag. “Fizzing Whizzbees. Licorice wands. And… two sugar quills.”

“Chocolate frogs,” Everett added proudly, offering up a small box.

Leander laid down a tin of treacle fudge..

Sebastian inspected the loot. “Good. Very good. You all may sit.”

They dropped onto the grass like excited toddlers.

“Remember—payments every class,” Sebastian said, grinning as he stuffed a sugar quill into his pocket.

“You’re not the one teaching us,” Everett pointed out.

“No,” Sebastian said, pointing a thumb beside him. “But I am Ominis’s… err… manager. Quality control. Morale supervisor. Snack overseer.”

Ominis exhaled slowly. “If I curse someone before this ends, I want it to be noted that I was provoked.”

Sebastian patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Proceed, professor.”

Ominis ignored him. “Right. Let’s begin. The most basic greeting is Bonjour. Repeat after me—bonjour.”

“Bunjur,” Garreth said confidently.

“Bong-hair,” Everett grinned.

“Ban-jar?” Leander offered, squinting like it would help.

Ominis blinked slowly.

Sebastian was already on his back in the grass, howling.

“It’s bon. Jour.” Ominis repeated, more firmly now. “Not bonfire. Not banjo. Not whatever came out of your mouth, Everett.”

“Right, right. Bone-jewel.” Everett nodded.

“STOP.”

“Is it nasal?” Garreth asked, trying again. “Like bonjhhzz—”

“I will hex you with a silence charm, Weasley.”

Sebastian wheezed. “Oi, Ominis, I think your blood pressure’s rising.”

Ominis ignored him. “Let’s try a compliment. Tu es charmant. It means ‘you are charming.’ Slowly now. Tu. Es. Charmant.”

“Too-ass charmin’!” Leander beamed.

“Tooshy shaman?” Everett blinked.

Garreth tilted his head. “Is this… offensive in French?”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have never regretted knowledge more in my life.”

Sebastian, still lying on the grass, reached into the sweets bag and said, “Look on the bright side—you’ve already earned the worst teaching evaluation in history.”

Ominis turned toward him, voice tight. “I will curse you. ”

Sebastian sat up, suddenly pale. “Okay, okay, everyone focus! Let’s not make the professor cry.”

Ominis stood, turning dramatically. “Detention would be kinder than this.”

Everett raised a tentative hand. “…Can we learn how to say ‘you look hot in robes’ next?”

Ominis screamed into his hands.


Beast Classroom

The girls had taken over the back of the Beast Classroom—books tossed aside, snacks out, and a niffler snoozing peacefully in the corner as background ambiance.

“So get this,” Poppy leaned in dramatically, eyes wide. “I saw Ominis and the others at the Clocktower Courtyard.”

“…And?” MC asked without looking up from peeling a sugar quill.

“He was holding a rather big stick.”

There was a pause.

Anne immediately burst out laughing. “Oh! That’s just his teaching stick.”

Adelaide nearly choked. “That sounds so much worse, Anne.”

“No, no, I mean it!” Anne waved a hand. “He’s using it to teach Leander, Garreth, and Everett French.”

“How’s that going?” Samantha asked, sipping her tea with a raised brow.

“Horrible,” MC muttered. “Ominis drinks tea by the bucket now. I saw him mutter ‘je suis en enfer’ three times before slapping Everett with a biscuit.”

Natty cackled. “Why do they even want to learn French?”

“Bet it’s for the Beauxbatons girls arriving next week,” Imelda smirked, already braiding a strand of her own hair lazily.

“Yeah, because obviously Beauxbatons girls will fall for men with broken French and bruised egos,” Adelaide snorted.

“They’ll probably say something charming like ‘I want to kiss your goat,’” Samantha said dryly.

“I actually prefer Latin,” Nerida offered, thoughtful. “It’s structured. Clean. Intimidating in a hot way.”

Everyone turned.

“I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “If someone whispered ‘amor vincit omnia’ to me, I’d fold.”

Imelda sipped her drink. “I’d fold for anyone who doesn’t mispronounce bonjour.”


One Week Later

After a week of Ominis’s noble attempt at imparting the French language—during which his teaching stick had been broken (and replaced) three times and his tea consumption reached critical levels—the fateful moment had finally arrived.

The boys would now test their French.

Or as MC called it: “Linguistic Russian Roulette.”

Charms class had barely started when Leander made his move. He leaned in toward Samantha’s desk, eyebrows raised, chest puffed, confidence wildly misplaced.

“Ehem. Samantha…” he said in his best attempt at a sultry tone.

“…Yes?” Samantha asked, not looking up from her notes.

Leander smiled.

“Too-ass charmin.”

…

…

The entire classroom went silent.

Samantha blinked once. “Did you just say… my ass is charming?”

Across the room, Sebastian completely lost it. He slammed his forehead to his desk, wheezing uncontrollably.

Ominis stood up, calmly gathered his things, and walked out of the classroom without a word.

“He’s gone,” Garreth whispered. “He finally snapped.”

“He warned us,” Everett said solemnly.

“He warned you.” MC corrected.

Samantha turned back to Leander, who was now bright red and sinking lower in his seat.

“I… I meant ‘you are charming,’” he muttered.

“You said too-ass.”

“It’s the accent!”

“You don’t have an accent.”

From outside the classroom, they heard the muffled sound of Ominis screaming into a scarf.


Leander sank into his seat and Sebastian tried to breathe through his laugh attack, the rest of the class slowly resumed pretending to be civilized.

“I mean, You’ve been learning for only two weeks,” Amit chimed in from two rows down, ever the voice of diplomatic optimism. “You’ll get better. It took me quite some time to learn Gobbledegook, and I still can’t pronounce ‘snarfblat’ without offending goblins.”

“Yeah,” Natty added, side-eyeing Leander with a grin. “And you lot want to flirt in French after just a week of butchering vowels and traumatising Ominis? Be realistic.”

“It’s not that hard!” Garreth protested. “All I said was vous êtes adorable and—”

“You said vous êtes a doorbell,” Adelaide corrected.

“That explains the confused look I got from that fourth-year.”

“You flirt like an instruction manual,” Samantha added, still recovering.

Leander groaned into his arms. “Maybe I’ll just hold a sign.”

“Yeah, one that says ‘Je suis désolé,’” MC muttered.

Sebastian wiped his eyes. “Ominis left the building. Literally. He’s probably writing his transfer letter in cursive Latin.”

“Or writing my eulogy,” Leander said mournfully.

Amit nodded, helpful as always. “Well if you do die, I can translate it into Gobbledegook. For interspecies outreach, of course.”

Everyone stared.

“…Thank you, Amit,” MC said slowly. “Deeply comforting.”



“Ehem… MC,” Garreth started, turning in his seat with a look that could only be described as tragically confident.

Across the row, Anne cackled. “Ohhh here we go.”

MC didn’t even blink. She looked up slowly, face entirely unimpressed, quill paused mid-word.

“…Yes?” she asked flatly.

Garreth cleared his throat again, sat up straighter, and smiled like he thought he was starring in a romantic painting.

“une… table magnifique,” he said, dragging the last word.

There was a beat of silence.

“…Did you just call me a magnificent table?” MC asked.

Sebastian choked on air.

“No—wait—I thought that meant ‘gorgeous’!”

“You used the wrong adjective form,” MC said. “Congratulations, I’m now furniture.”

“I—I was trying!” Garreth said, hands up.

“Try harder,” Samantha muttered. “Or switch to mime.”

Anne leaned over to MC. “Careful. If he compliments your legs next, he might say they look like sturdy chair legs.”

Sebastian wiped a tear. “One more round! Ominis hasn’t even come back to witness this carnage!”

“Probably for his own sanity,” Natty said.

Everett raised a hand. “I still think bonjoOour, mademoiselle has potential—”

“SIT DOWN.” the girls all shouted in unison.



The door creaked open.

In stepped Ominis, calm… collected… and holding his fourth teaching stick like it was forged in the depths of French hell.

He walked in with the silent menace of a man who had heard someone say “too-ass charmin” and had not emotionally recovered.

“…Oh dear,” MC whispered, scooting her chair half an inch back.

Garreth chuckled nervously. “O-Ominis, mate—listen. Professor Ronen will arrive any minute now, and we should really be reviewing Charms, and not—”

Ominis raised the stick.

Everyone froze.

“Now repeat all the phrases I taught you.” His voice was smooth. Too smooth. Terrifyingly smooth.

Leander blinked. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

Everett slowly reached for his wand like he was considering a Disillusionment charm and an escape into the nearest bush.

Garreth tried a weak laugh. “Heh. Which, uh… part exactly?”

“All of it.” Ominis said.

Sebastian leaned forward on his elbows, grin wide. “Oh, I love this part.”

“I’ll go first!” Everett blurted. “Tooshy shaman!”

Ominis twitched.

MC put her head down on her desk.

“That’s not even close,” Natty muttered.

Leander panicked. “Bong-hair!”

“NO—” Samantha shouted.

Ominis raised his stick like a conductor at the end of his sanity.

“You’ve learned nothing,” he declared. “Nothing except how to give me early-onset heart failure in two languages.”

“Professor Ronen will definitely be here soon,” Garreth tried again.

“And he speaks French,” Ominis replied darkly. “Fluently.”

Sebastian gasped. “Oh excellent, they’ll have someone to fail in front of professionally.”

“Ronen won’t hit us with a stick,” Everett mumbled.

“Then Ronen is soft,” Ominis hissed.



“Uh… Mr. Gaunt?”

The class froze.

Professor Ronen stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a very specific ‘I’ve seen enough nonsense today’ kind of way.

Ominis turned slowly, still clutching the stick like a man seconds away from using it.

“Where did you get that stick?” Ronen asked, eyeing it warily.

“…Confiscated from the Transfiguration scrap bin,” Ominis replied smoothly.

“You decorated it,” Ronen pointed out.

“Yes,” Ominis said without blinking.

“You lot,” Ronen added sternly, sweeping his gaze across the room, “get back to your seats.”

There was a flurry of motion as chairs screeched and students scrambled to look innocent.

Ominis lowered his stick reluctantly.

“…Consider yourselves spared,” he hissed under his breath, sliding into his seat like a punished war general.

Leander leaned over toward Garreth, whispering furiously, “Why, of all people, did you pick a Slytherin with homicidal tendencies to teach us?!”

Garreth whispered back, “Because he’s the only one fluent in French!”

“And also fluent in violence!”

Everett sighed. “Honestly, I’ve learned more about trauma than language.”

“Welcome to true education,” MC muttered.

Professor Ronen tapped his wand once, silencing the room.

“Now. Today, we review switching charms. And not how to emotionally destroy your peers in multiple dialects.”

Ominis’s hand twitched toward the stick.

Sebastian grinned. “That’s fine. I’m multilingual in pain.”

Chapter Text

History of Magic Classroom

“Hey Ominis!” MC called out cheerfully as she stepped into the nearly empty classroom. Only the eerie silence and a faint chalky scent greeted her.

Ominis sat alone, fingers lazily tracing the edge of his desk. “Hello MC.”

“Slept well?” she asked, sliding into the seat beside him.

“…Well enough,” he replied. “About to sleep better once Binns starts droning.”

MC laughed, already pulling out a sugar quill. “Fair.”

“Where’s Sebastian and Anne? Weren’t they with you?”

Ominis sighed like a man who’d already relived the trauma thrice. “They hexed each other.”

“…What?”

“They both… don’t have eyebrows.”

MC stared.

“They’re regrowing them in their rooms.”

MC stared harder. “Why?!”

“Apparently they both decided the other looked ugly,” Ominis said tiredly. “Words escalated. Wands flew. Eyebrows vanished.”

MC slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a snort.

“Sebastian was supposed to come with me to Gladrags,” Ominis continued mournfully. “I needed a second opinion. I don’t trust Otto. He’ll push me the most expensive suit in the shop just to say I look refined. And now… Sebastian can’t go because he said he looks like a hard boiled egg.”

“I can come with you,” MC offered, still chuckling. “I’m due for a new coat anyway.”

“Oh?” Ominis asked. “What happened to your current one?”

MC looked around cautiously, then leaned in and whispered, “…Hippogriff bile.”

Ominis blinked. “What?”

“I rode Caligo yesterday. Fed him a squid as a treat. He got…excited. He vomited on me.”

There was a pause.

“…You were wearing the coat?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought a squid was a good idea?”

“He loves squid!” she hissed.

“He loved it so much, he gave it back.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m merely reacting like someone who wasn’t slimed by majestic bird bile.”

“I’ll help you pick your suit.”

“Perfect. I’ll help you burn that coat.”



“Hey!” Samantha’s voice rang out as she bounced into the classroom.

“Merlin’s sake, Sam!” MC hissed, spinning in her seat. 

“I heard you were going to Gladrags!” Samantha beamed harder. “Can I come?”

MC blinked. “Uh… sure? That alright, Ominis?”

Ominis, who had clearly given up on a quiet day already, nodded. “Yeah. A third opinion would be good.”

Before anyone could blink—

“HEY!!” Adelaide burst in, practically skipping down the aisle. “ME TOO! I need to see if they’ve restocked the enchanted scarves!”

MC side-eyed Ominis. “…It’s becoming a group trip.”

“Oh, I want to look around too,” Natty said smoothly as she strode in, looking far too calm for the chaos she was joining.

“Me too!” Poppy chirped, bouncing in right behind her. “They just stocked those boots enchanted for silent steps—I want to try them!”

MC turned slowly to Ominis, who was now sitting very, very still, as if trying to disassociate.

“Well, Ominis…” she said lightly, “you’re going to have a lot of opinions today.”

Ominis sighed, fingers tapping the desk. “Excellent. Seven voices. One suit. This won’t be overwhelming at all.”

Samantha grinned. “You’re going to look so sharp!”

Adelaide clapped. “Like a cursed dashing villain!”

“I’m aiming for neutral wizard,” Ominis muttered.

Poppy leaned in. “We’ll make sure you look dangerously charming.”

“I don’t want to look dangerous.”

“You don’t get to choose now,” MC said.

Ominis lowered his head to the desk. “I blame Sebastian. ”



Gladrags WizardWear

It was chaos inside Gladrags.

Bolts of fabric floated overhead. Racks swirled with color-changing cloaks. Mannequins kept adjusting themselves mid-pose. And in the center of the storm stood Ominis, arms stiff at his sides, modeling the fifth outfit in under twenty minutes while being ruthlessly judged by a committee of hormonal teenage girls and one panicked shop owner.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, Madam!” Otto cried, dramatically throwing his measuring tape over one shoulder as he faced off with Adelaide.

“Otto,” Adelaide snapped, pointing a well-manicured finger at the black suit on the rack, “that cut will look great on him.”

“That cut will do nothing for his figure!” Otto groaned. “It will drown him! It’s structured for someone with a horizontally bold aura.”

“It’s called drama, Otto!”

“I am drama!” Otto wailed. “And I know tailoring!”

MC, sitting like a tired mother with a lemonade Otto had not offered her, watched it all unfold with amused detachment. Her eyes flicked to Ominis, who was currently wearing something suspiciously high-collared and vaguely threatening.

“…I like the one that makes you look like a vampire,” MC said casually.

Samantha turned. “You need to be more specific.”

MC squinted. “Uh—the hot looking one? You know? The one with the corset outside. And the leather straps on the… thighs.”

There was a beat.

Natty cackled. “MC, you are showing your true colors.”

“Bold of you to assume I ever hid them.”

Ominis cleared his throat. “I think… that one might be a bit too modern for a formal event.”

“Modern is just tomorrow’s vintage,” Adelaide said, arms crossed.

MC tilted her head. “Besides, who says formal can’t have a little thigh strap?”

Otto held up a hand. “For the record, I designed that for an experimental goblet-launching gala in Paris.”

Everyone turned.

“What events,” MC asked slowly, “require thigh-strapped corsets and goblet-launching?”

Otto placed a hand over his heart. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s art.”

Poppy poked her head out from the dressing curtain, holding a jacket. “I like the one with dragon scale embroidery.”

“That’s pajamas!” Otto cried.

“Exactly,” Poppy grinned.

Ominis sighed. “Someone please… just hand me the neutral wizard look. In black. Or grey. Or shadow.”

“You mean the boring one,” MC muttered.

“I mean the one that won’t give old people a stroke.”

Another hour passed..


“FINE!” Ominis snapped, arms stiff at his sides, robes askew, hair slightly frazzled from excessive outfit changes. “I’ll get both. The boring one and the corset one. If we could just finish this nightmare!”

There was a collective cheer from the girls.

“See? Shopping is fun!” Samantha chirped.

“No, it’s trial by textile,” Ominis muttered.

“At least get this belt too,” MC said, grabbing a sleek, dark piece from the accessory wall and holding it up. “It matches the hot vampire look.”

“MC… what kind of belt is that?”

Before MC could answer, Otto suddenly beamed.

“Ah! That belt!” he said with a dramatic flourish, snatching it from MC’s hands like it was a wand of destiny. “Now that is a one-of-a-kind piece! Transfigurable, of course—watch this!”

With a flick of Otto’s wand, the belt shimmered, morphed—and suddenly turned into a—

“Why is it a whip now?” Ominis asked flatly.

“Oh—fabulous!” Adelaide gasped.

“Otto,” Natty said slowly, “what… exactly is this belt for?”

“It’s fashion!” Otto sang. “But also doubles as a weapon, should you need to make a very stylish escape. Self-retracting, expandable, and slightly cursed!”

Poppy blinked. “Slightly?”

“It once choked a mannequin during a full moon,” Otto said proudly. “But only the one time.”

MC nodded solemnly. “So it’s perfect.”

“No,” Ominis said immediately.

“Yes,” MC countered.

“Absolutely not.”

“Put it in the bag, Otto.”

Otto twirled, threw it dramatically into a floating bag, and declared, “Sold!”

Ominis exhaled like a man who had lost control of his life.



Sebastian better still be bald,” he muttered. “He deserves it.”

******

The girls walked through the castle courtyard in glorious formation, arms full of shopping bags, coats billowing, scarves fluttering.

Behind them trudged Ominis, emotionally hollowed, garment bag over one shoulder, expression that of a man who endured too much argument.

The girls, however, were humming. Triumphant. Glowing. Invigorated by retail and chaos.

“Successful trip,” Natty said, swinging her bag.

“Ten out of ten,” Samantha added.

“Those boots were so worth it,” Poppy chimed.

“Did we traumatize Otto a little?” Adelaide asked.

“Absolutely,” MC confirmed.

They all turned to Ominis, who was still dragging his boots a little.

“So…” MC said, smirking, “where exactly are you going to wear that outfit again?”

Ominis paused. His soul left his body for two seconds.

“…A family ‘friend’s’ funeral,” he said flatly.

…

There was a long, painful beat.

Then—all of them in unison:

“…We apologize.”

“Deeply.” Natty added.

“We didn’t know,” Poppy winced.

“We’ll burn the belt,” Samantha offered.

MC looked at him, deadpan. “I mean… if it’s a shady relative—”

“No,” Ominis said simply.

“So the boring suit?” Adelaide asked meekly.

Ominis sighed. “If I walk in there looking like a seductive vampire with thigh straps, my inheritance dies too.”

The girls nodded solemnly.

“Understood.”