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The weather was beginning to thaw, just barely, though the Highlands still wore winter’s chill like a stubborn cloak. Inside the Slytherin common room, warm with flickering green firelight, Sebastian sat in his usual corner, book open on his lap, mind anywhere but on the page.
Valentine’s Day was tomorrow.
He had made it through Potions by nearly setting his sleeve on fire. He'd stammered through half-hearted jokes in Charms. At lunch, he'd gone quiet halfway through a sentence as Ominis stirred his tea, head tilted ever-so-slightly in that way that said he was listening. Always listening.
Sebastian had opened his mouth to ask. Every single time, for almost a week.
And every time, the words withered on his tongue.
Now, evening had descended. A storm coiled in the distant sky beyond the lake, and the common room was unusually quiet for a Friday. Time was running out. If he didn’t ask now, it would be too late.
Sebastian sat slouched in an armchair, eyes fixed on Ominis, who was curled comfortably on the opposite couch, a Braille book resting on his knees. His fingers swept across the pages in steady rhythm, and his expression was soft. Thoughtful. Peaceful.
He’s going to say no.
That voice had haunted Sebastian all day. What if Ominis didn’t want to go with him? What if he laughed? What if it ruined everything?
What if he already has a date?
But the way Ominis smiled when he said Sebastian’s name. The way his shoulders relaxed whenever they sat together in silence. The way he lingered every time he brushed past Sebastian, shoulders jostling or the back of their hands brushing against each other.
Maybe.
Just say it, he thought. It’s not hard. You’ve said harder things to angry goblins. Just ask if he wants to go with you.
He cleared his throat.
Ominis tilted his head slightly, but didn’t stop reading.
Sebastian panicked. “Er, just… dry air. Throat. You know.”
“Mm,” Ominis hummed, turning the page.
Another few minutes passed. Ominis shifted, drawing one leg beneath him. His expression was serene, faintly amused in the way it always was when he was deep in a good book. Sebastian had to force himself to stop staring at his mouth.
He tried again.
“So,” he began, voice pitched carefully neutral. “Valentine’s Day is coming up.”
Ominis hummed absently, not looking up from his book. “Dreadful, that. Hogsmeade will be insufferable. Everyone flinging themselves at each other with chocolates and confessions and gods-awful poems.” He paused to turn a page. “I may start hexing people if I hear the phrase my darling sweetheart one more time.”
Sebastian forced a laugh, trying not to sound like someone who had just mentally rewritten an entire love letter. “Yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Total nightmare. Sappy nonsense.”
There was a lull. Ominis’s fingers moved across the page in that fluid, practiced motion. Sebastian watched them with a kind of desperation, like they might spell out the courage he was looking for.
And then, before he could back out again, he said it.
“Do you—” His voice cracked, and he coughed. “Do you want to go to Hogsmeade together? On Valentine’s.”
There. It was out. Finally.
He held his breath, eyes locked on Ominis like he was expecting the world to tilt.
But Ominis didn’t even blink. He turned another page.
“Sure,” he said easily. “Why not? I need to pick up another quill, anyway. Would be nice to hang out with a friend amidst the chaos.”
Friend.
The word hit like a Depulso to the gut.
Sebastian felt the color drain from his face. “No! I mean—” He shifted forward so fast his book slid off his lap and thumped to the floor. “I meant it as a date! With me. As in—more than friends.”
Ominis’s fingers stilled. His whole body froze, posture suddenly rigid.
“…Oh,” he said quietly.
Then again, louder, a dawning note in his voice: “Oh.”
Sebastian sat on the edge of his chair, knuckles white where they gripped the armrests. “Oh?”
A silence stretched, just long enough for Sebastian to consider whether it was possible to dissolve into the stone floor and cease to exist entirely.
Then Ominis turned his head slightly in Sebastian’s direction, and a slow smile crept across his face. “Is that why you’ve been acting so strange all day?”
Sebastian blinked. “I haven’t been—”
“You spilled ink on your sleeve this morning and muttered bloody hell eight times during breakfast,” Ominis pointed out. “You didn’t even insult Leander once in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I thought perhaps you were ill.”
Sebastian opened his mouth, then shut it again. He couldn’t very well deny it. And Ominis had still not answered his question.
He’s going to say no. He’s going to say no and our friendship will be ruined and I’ll have to transfer to Durmstrang and -
Ominis’s smile softened. “Sebastian.”
“Yeah?” His voice was not squeaky. It was not.
“I’d love to go on a date with you.”
For a second, all Sebastian could do was stare. Ominis’ words hung in the air between them: clear as a day, yet impossible to understand. “You—really?”
“Yes,” Ominis said, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Really.”
Relief, sharp and dizzying, crashed over Sebastian like a tidal wave. He slumped back into his chair, exhaling so loudly that a nearby second-year gave him a concerned glance.
“Oh thank Merlin,” he groaned. “I’ve been losing my mind.”
“Yes,” Ominis said again, now amused. “I noticed.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Also, for the record,” Ominis added, his voice mockingly serious, “if you had started reciting a poem, I would have hexed you.”
Sebastian snorted. “Even if it was about your eyes being like moonlight on the Black Lake?”
“Especially then.”
They both laughed, a giddy sort of relief and exhilaration colouring the air.
Sebastian leaned forward again, eyes bright. “So… Valentine’s. Hogsmeade. Just us.”
Ominis tilted his head thoughtfully. “Mhm. I suppose I can brave the hordes of tragically lovesick teenagers for that.”
Sebastian grinned, wide and unstoppable. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I’m counting on it.”