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Garreth Weasley had, once again, blown up a cauldron.
He didn’t mean to. Truly. He’d followed Sharp’s instructions. Well, mostly. He may have substituted fire toad tongue with essence of murtlap, because honestly, wasn’t murtlap just a spicier cousin in the magical fauna family?
The resulting poof was more of a wet explosion than anything dramatic. A thick glob of shimmering green goo launched itself into the air and landed with an audibly resentful plorp across his robes, desk, parchment, and, unfortunately, Sharp’s boots.
Silence fell in the classroom.
“Mr. Weasley,” Professor Sharp said in that perfectly dry, deadpan voice that could dehydrate a mandrake.
Garreth grinned sheepishly and started scooping the goo off his sleeve. “I was experimenting with viscosity, Professor. For, uh, academic purposes.”
“Sit. Down.” Sharp flicked his wand once, efficiently siphoning the sludge off his boots. “You’ll be staying after class.”
Garreth sighed, slinking back to his seat amid a few muffled snickers.
He didn’t think much of the incident until five minutes later, as he was attempting to salvage his now-ruined notes, he heard something strange.
“I hope no one noticed I spelled on my eyebrows this morning. I forgot one and it looks like I’m in mid-transformation into a badger.”
Garreth glanced up. Barnaby Lee was seated across the room, chewing a quill and staring at a bubbling cauldron. He was indeed missing one eyebrow. And his lips weren’t moving.
Garreth froze.
He looked around. Nobody else reacted. Barnaby hadn’t said a word.
Huh.
He shook his head, assuming he was just overtired—or maybe the goo was messing with his inner ear or something.
“Sharp’s hair is greying so nicely. Salt-and-pepper is absolutely a good look for him. I wonder if he'd hex me if I complimented him on it. Probably. Worth it.”
Garreth's eyes widened. That thought had definitely come from Samantha Dale, sitting quietly beside him. He side-eyed her. She was innocently stirring her potion, lips pursed in concentration, face unreadable.
Another thought broke through:
“If this potion backfires I will simply perish. Not dramatically. Just lie down on the flagstones and evaporate into the next plane of existence.”
Poppy Sweeting. Three seats down. Still smiling serenely at her bubbling cauldron.
Garreth stared down at his desk, heart thumping. Something was wrong.
No, not wrong. Weird. Magical. And not in the good way, like free Honeydukes samples or Felix Felicis in your cocoa.
This was... intrusive.
He was hearing people’s thoughts.
As if on cue, a fresh voice echoed in his mind:
“Does Weasley know there's goo in his hair? Oh Merlin, he’s going to get it in his mouth, isn’t he — yep. There it is. Disgusting.”
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Garreth glared at Everett Clopton, who smirked without even looking up from his notes.
"Trust Weasley to always find a new way to cause mayhem in the classroom", Everett thought.
Garreth slapped a hand over his ears as if that might help, then realized how ridiculous he looked and slammed his hands back on the desk, trying to act natural. He didn’t even bother to finish the potion. What was the point? If this was what mind-reading felt like, he was going to lose his sanity by lunch.
By the time class ended, he’d suffered through two people contemplating Professor Sharp’s behind in wildly inappropriate detail, Imelda Reyes fantasizing about decapitating Garreth himself using nothing but her broomstick in the upcoming Quidditch match, and Duncan Hobhouse vividly and uncomfortably thinking about how his itchy undergarments have ridden up his bum crack.
It was excruciating.
He scrambled out of the classroom when Sharp finally dismissed them, ignoring the pointed gesture toward his seat. Sharp could lecture him later. He needed to clear his head. Or dunk it in the Black Lake. Or get it examined.
He made it halfway down the hall when it happened.
Two voices. Not like the rest, but they were clearer.
And familiar.
“Ominis looks good today. Why does he always look good? That bloody collar is unfairly elegant. Who even has cheekbones like that?”
Sebastian Sallow.
Garreth paused mid-step, heart lurching.
Then, a beat later:
“Sebastian’s voice when he casts spells ... deep, confident, like he knows the incantation is going to bend to his will. Merlin help me, I could listen to him say ‘Expelliarmus’ for hours.”
Ominis Gaunt.
Garreth turned slowly, and there they were: Sebastian and Ominis, walking down the corridor a few paces behind him, chatting casually about the upcoming Dueling Club meeting. On the surface, they were all smirks and sarcasm, jostling shoulders like the best of friends.
But their thoughts?
“What would happen if I just kissed him right here, right now? Not that I would. But like, what if.”
Garreth’s mouth fell open.
Oh, he thought, dazed. This... is going to be very entertaining.
It had been two days.
Two days of Garreth living in a waking nightmare of unspoken longing, poetic descriptions of hands (why hands?), and intrusive Sebastian Sallow thoughts that should be illegal in a school setting.
He was not okay.
At breakfast, he made the mistake of sitting across from the two of them, facing them over the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables. Distance didn’t seem to matter when each of their thoughts were so intense and vivid, they drowned out the thoughts of the people actually sitting beside him at his own table.
Sebastian was halfway through buttering his crumpet when Garreth heard:
“Ominis has a bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. I should tell him. Or wipe it off. Or lick it off—NOPE. Absolutely not. Pull it together, Sallow, you feral bastard.”
Garreth choked violently on his pumpkin juice, coughing until his face was red.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, utterly unbothered. “You good, Weasley?” he called out, as Ominis' thoughts echoed through his mind.
"His voice when he said good morning today ... Merlin, I wish I'd woken up in his bed instead of my own. Just once."
“Fine!” Garreth croaked, eyes watering. “Just... juice went down the wrong way.”
Across the table, Ominis dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Every inch the prim and proper aristocrat. Not at all like a hormonal teenage boy who had just vividly imagined himself in his best friend’s bed.The jam was gone. Garreth didn’t want to know if that was coincidence or if Sebastian had mentally strong-armed it off with the power of lust.
The strangest part wasn’t that both Ominis and Sebastian had feelings for each other. Surprising, sure, but not shocking. They were practically conjoined at the hip. You could’ve mistaken them for just very close friends, but the truth wasn't blindsiding either.
What truly baffled him was how normal they still acted. Ominis still frowned, wrinkled his nose, and huffed at Sebastian’s antics. Sebastian still bumped shoulders with him, sighing loudly and gesturing like a man in the throes of theatrical suffering. Outwardly, you'd never guess they were mentally undressing each other in stereo.
Speaking of which ...
"Ominis has a mole on his left shoulder. I accidentally saw it when he got dressed today. Good thing he's blind and doesn't know I'm staring. But Merlin, he's beautiful. What I wouldn't give to have him under me, in my bed ..."
Garreth briefly considered stabbing his own ears with a butter knife.
In Charms, things were worse.
Sebastian and Ominis always sat together—of course they did, they were practically a matched set—and Garreth, for some reason, ended up right behind them. He tried to focus on Professor Ronen’s lecture, but the thoughts in front of him were like a badly written romance novel possessed by a horny poltergeist.
“I love when he concentrates like that. His brow furrows and it’s like... intelligent brooding incarnate. How am I supposed to hex anyone with him looking like that?”
Ominis was no better.
“He leans forward when he’s excited about a spell. Why is that endearing? I hope he gets called up to cast some spells again. I wonder what he’d sound like, casting Depulso. I bet he’d use that low, gritty voice he uses for Stupefy. I wonder what he’d sound like in bed.”
Garreth pressed his forehead to his desk. “Please,” he whispered to no one, “get a room, or a clue, or a calming draught.”
Ronen then called on Garreth to demonstrate a charm. He stumbled through it with all the grace of a concussed puffskein.
He spent the rest of class slumped in his chair, trying to focus on the thoughts of literally anyone else besides Sebastian and Ominis.
"I hope no one knows I was the one who clogged the toilet on the third floor yesterday."
"Why hasn't he replied yet? The date was good. I looked good. He laughed. He even paid for my butterbeer. Why is he suddenly acting cold?"
"I should've read the assigned chapters before class, instead of napping. I wonder if Professor Ronen takes bribes."
"Imelda looks strangely hot when she eye-murders people. I wonder if I could ask her out. Or she'd obliterate me on the spot. But honestly, that would be welcome, too."
"It's late. Why is it late? We used protection. Is there a Charm against pregnancy? Oh Lord, what if I'm pregnant? My parents will kill me. He's not even pureblood."
Garreth could feel the beginning of a heachache approaching.
When the last student filtered out of Advanced Potions, Garreth stayed frozen in his seat, staring blankly at the smear of ink on his notes. His nerves were frayed, his eyelid was twitching, and he was pretty sure he’d accidentally stirred his potion with the wrong end of the wand again. The cauldron had hissed at him. That wasn’t metaphor.
“Mr. Weasley,” came Sharp’s voice, clipped but not unkind. “A word.”
Garreth flinched like he’d been hexed.
He shuffled up to the front, dragging his feet like a condemned man. He expected a lecture. Detention. A stern reminder that class was for brewing, not melodramatic sighing and whimpering every time someone so much as glanced at someone else.
Instead, Sharp regarded him silently for a long moment. Then he flicked his wand, shutting the classroom door with a quiet click.
Garreth swallowed.
“I assume,” Sharp began, in that bone-dry tone of his, “you’ve recently suffered the consequences of tampering with experimental ingredients.”
Garreth blinked. “I—well—I mean, it wasn’t entirely tampering. It was more of a ... creative substitution?”
Sharp stared at him.
Garreth wilted. “Yes. There was goo. Involved. I may have... messed up the base properties of the potion.”
Sharp nodded once. “And have you experienced any unusual symptoms since then?”
Garreth hesitated. “Define unusual.”
Another long pause. Sharp's expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or pity. It was hard to tell with him.
“Let’s say,” Sharp said slowly, “a student was suddenly able to perceive things they weren’t meant to. Specifically, the unspoken thoughts of those around them.”
Garreth froze. Sharp raised one eyebrow.
“Oh my Godric,” Garreth breathed. “You knew.”
“I suspected,” Sharp said smoothly. “Your behavior in the last three classes has been... erratic. Even for you. And yesterday you screamed into your cauldron.”
“In my defense,” Garreth muttered, “the cauldron started it.”
Sharp ignored that.
“The potion you mishandled was originally a focus elixir prototype,” he explained, opening a cabinet behind his desk and rifling through a stack of vials. “Its intent was to temporarily enhance magical perception. You, however, created something far more invasive. Fortunately, it should be reversible.”
Garreth’s knees nearly gave out. “Thank Merlin.”
Sharp held up a pale green vial, inspecting it in the light. “I’ll need time to modify the antidote. It won’t be ready until tomorrow afternoon.”
Garreth nodded fervently. “Great. Brilliant. I can survive one more day. Probably.”
Sharp corked the vial and looked him over with something almost resembling sympathy. “In the meantime, I recommend minimal social interaction. If you must suffer, suffer strategically.”
“That’s good,” Garreth muttered. “That’s very good. I’ll just lock myself in the Astronomy Tower and hum until I go deaf.”
Sharp arched a brow again. “And, Mr. Weasley ... try not to scream when people think things. Most students don’t expect to be overheard.”
Garreth flushed, thinking of last night’s mustard incident. “Right. Noted.”
He turned to leave, already plotting a route through the castle that involved the least possible exposure to... humanity.
“Oh, and Weasley?” Sharp called after him.
Garreth paused at the door.
Sharp didn’t look up from his notes, but there was the faintest ghost of a smirk on his lips. “If you happen to overhear anything of value... I do accept anonymous gossip in writing.”
Garreth stared at him.
Then, utterly rattled, he fled the classroom.
Garreth was halfway through pretending to be normal in the library when Natty pounced.
He’d been trying to avoid eye contact with everyone for hours, especially Sebastian and Ominis, who were whispering again near the Restricted Section and apparently thinking about each other with the intensity of a thousand sonnets. Garreth had hidden behind a stack of Herbology texts and was mouthing I am not here, I do not exist when Natty slammed a book down on the table in front of him and sat with the precision of someone about to make an arrest.
“You,” she said firmly, “are acting weird.”
Garreth blinked. “Me? No. Not at all. This is classic me. Peak me. Some would say refreshingly subdued me.”
“You tried to eat your quill in History of Magic.”
“I was... hungry for knowledge?”
She narrowed her eyes. “And you shouted ‘Merlin’s lacy underthings!’ in Charms, then pretended it was a sneeze.”
Garreth groaned and buried his face in his arms. “That was not my thought, for the record.”
Natty leaned forward, lowering her voice. “So? What’s going on?”
“He’s even weirder than usual. Perhaps he’s gone off the rails for good this time. I knew it would happen before graduation.”
“I have not!” Garreth protested before he could stop himself. “I’ve just had some really rough days!”
He winced.
Natty stared.
Garreth could practically see the puzzle pieces slotting together in her eyes.
“What the … Garreth Weasley, do you mind explaining?!”
He sighed and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Okay. Fine. I may have... accidentally brewed myself into a state of temporary mind-reading. Just a little. Very limited.”
Natty gawked, but thankfully switched back to speaking. “That’s a real thing?”
“Apparently. Professor Sharp’s making the antidote. But until then—” he leaned across the table, eyes bloodshot and dramatic “—I’m living in a constant nightmare of everyone’s inner monologues. Do you have any idea how many people think about Professor Sharp’s hands?”
Natty looked mildly horrified. “I don’t want to.”
“Exactly.”
She tilted her head. “So, what, you’re just reading everyone’s thoughts?”
“Not voluntarily! It’s just... ambient.” He rubbed his temples. “It’s like being in a room full of mirrors that all reflect things you didn’t want to see.”
Natty regarded him for a moment, then asked, “So, who’s the worst?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Sebastian and Ominis.”
“Really?” she said, sounding surprised. “I’d have guessed Imelda. She has layers.”
Garreth shook his head solemnly. He glanced over at where Sebastian was currently brushing nonexistent lint off Ominis’ sleeve with the delicacy of a man defusing a bomb. Then, he made a split decision.
He turned back to Natty, voice low and deadly serious. “Tell me something. Has it ever occurred to you—the possibility that... Ominis and Sebastian may like each other as more than friends?”
Natty just looked at him with a flat expression.
“You don’t need to read minds to get that, Garreth.”
Garreth stared.
She shrugged, flipping open her book. “Sebastian stares at Ominis’ mouth like it owes him money. And Ominis keeps calling him ‘infuriating’ with the tone of someone trying not to say ‘darling’. It’s embarrassing for all of us.”
He slumped back in his chair. “So I got saddled with this curse for nothing?”
“I mean,” Natty said without looking up, “you probably deserved it.”
Garreth moaned into the table
The next day, Garreth stumbled into the Great Hall nearly fifteen minutes late for breakfast, hair rumpled, tie half-done, and one sock very much inside out. He’d overslept after a night of desperately counting sheep, casting silencing charms on himself, and trying to ward off his dorm mates’ … vivid fantasies when trying to fall asleep.
He squinted toward the Gryffindor table, where a suspicious cluster of students were whispering behind their hands. There was a distinct buzz in the air, the kind that usually followed an illicit duel, a corridor snog, or the sudden mysterious disappearance of Peeves.
He slid into his seat next to Nellie Oggspire, who was practically vibrating.
“What did I miss?” he asked, grabbing a piece of toast.
She whipped toward him. “You didn’t hear?”
“I was unconscious,” he said, biting into the toast. “Involuntarily.”
Nellie leaned in with wild eyes. “Sebastian and Ominis had a row. In the courtyard. People watched.”
Garreth blinked. “Like a real fight?”
“Real enough,” she whispered. “Apparently it started with Sebastian accusing Ominis of avoiding him and Ominis saying something like ‘you’re impossible to be around when I want more than friendship’ and it escalated fast.”
Garreth’s jaw dropped, toast forgotten.
“Then,” Nellie said dramatically, “Sebastian grabbed him by the tie and kissed him. Like, full-on. In front of everyone. Middle of an argument!”
Garreth choked on his toast for the second time that week.
Nellie patted his back helpfully. “They’re together now. Like, together-together. They’re literally cuddling right now.”
Garreth turned his head.
Sure enough, at the Slytherin table, Sebastian had one arm thrown lazily around Ominis’ shoulders. Ominis, expression serene and smug, was buttering a scone while leaning ever-so-slightly into the touch. They looked... domestic. Sickeningly comfortable. Infuriatingly happy.
Sebastian said something quiet, and Ominis smirked.
Garreth could practically feel the slow-motion heart eyes radiating off them like a charm-induced fog.
And, for the first time in days, Garreth smiled.
No more pining. No more longing. No more overheard Shakespearean-level yearning about the way someone stirred tea or cast Lumos or adjusted their collar.
Finally, he thought. I’m free.
“I had no idea,” Nellie continued conversationally, buttering a new toast. “They really just seemed like very good friends. I could never have guessed. Could you?”
Garreth cleared his throat, tore his eyes off of the couple.
“I had an inkling or so.”
He went to his next class in excellent spirits, even whistling as he walked. His brain felt lighter, the air clearer, the burden of involuntary romantic espionage finally lifted. He even dared to sit directly behind the happy couple in Defense Against the Dark Arts. From here, he could see that Sebastian’s and Ominis’ fingers were interlaced under the table.
And for a solid five minutes, everything was calm. Normal. Peaceful.
Until—
“If he keeps trailing his hand up my thigh, I’m going to have to ask him to bend me over the desk and take me right now. Right here.”
Garreth’s quill snapped in half.
Sebastian turned slightly, raising a curious brow. “You good, Weasley?”
Garreth didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He was too busy clawing at the desk in silent agony as Ominis continued thinking things that should be kept locked in a Gringotts vault behind no fewer than seven security wards and a basilisk.
“Maybe if we sneak out after curfew, we could have some privacy in the Undercroft. I don’t trust any silencing charms to be enough for either of us tonight.”
Garreth thumped his head against the desk.
Afternoon couldn't come quickly enough.