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Ominis had never liked the first week back.
The castle always felt louder after a summer away. More voices echoing off the stone, more shoes squeaking across the waxed floors, more bodies clustering in the corridors like someone had dropped a bag of Bertie Bott’s Beans and left first-years to scramble after the flavors. Even the air in the dormitories was charged with restless energy. Blankets rustled too much. Suitcases thudded and scraped. People hugged and laughed and jostled in ways Ominis couldn’t always anticipate, so he often found himself standing awkwardly to the side, half-listening, half-waiting for someone to acknowledge him.
Still, he thought he’d gotten through the first few hours relatively unscathed. He’d successfully avoided the spectacle of the Welcoming Feast, managed to charm his new textbooks to read aloud in a more tolerable tone than last year’s awful nasal voice, and had just sunk down in his favourite armchair by the fire, teacup in hand, intending to do some light reading for fun before the pile of school work took over.
Then came Sebastian.
Ominis heard him approach before he spoke: his footsteps were heavier now, more deliberate, and they echoed differently in the stone corridors of the Slytherin common room. Not louder exactly, but more solid. Like someone who’d grown into his features, filled out those gangly parts of his body that used to be bony and childish.
“Did you miss me, O?” Sebastian said, the corner of his cloak brushing against Ominis’ arm as he sat in his usual chair by the fire.
The voice. That was the first thing.
It had dropped over the summer. Not just lower, but smoother too. Velvety, rich, with a slight rasp at the end of each laugh that practically vibrated in Ominis’ chest when he heard it. He knew Sebastian had always been expressive, always the type to wear amusement like a second skin, but now every chuckle felt like a deliberate attack.
“No,” Ominis lied smoothly, lifting his teacup without turning his head. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”
Sebastian scoffed, dropping into the armchair beside him with a thud that rattled the nearby chess set. “Liar.”
Ominis didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied tracking the new things. The slightly heavier breath Sebastian took when he stretched. And his voice now came from a bit higher up, tilted downward as he addressed Ominis, which meant he’d grown. Taller. Broader. He bumped into things more, his body adjusting to unfamiliar size, and every time their arms brushed, Ominis couldn’t help but feel how solid he’d become.
The universe was apparently out to test Ominis' patience and restraint, because things only got worse from there.
When speed-walking from Transfiguration to dinner ("Or else all the treacle tarts will be gone, come on Ominis!"), Sebastian had grabbed his wrist to stop him from walking into a suit of armor that had been temporarily moved for cleaning. His grip had been warm and firm. Unthinking, almost possessive.
“Careful,” he’d murmured, voice low and intimate, a touch of amusement in it. “Has your wand stopped working?”
Ominis had spent the following half hour in the lavatory, trying to calm down.
And then, there were the whispers. The gossip.
“Honestly, I think Sebastian Sallow might be the only person who comes back from summer hotter,” someone whispered behind them.
Ominis’ head twitched slightly toward the sound. Girls, probably fourth or fifth years, clustered near the common room fireplace. He could hear the rustle of pages as one of them pretended to read.
“Oh, did you see his jawline?” the second voice said. “I swear, he could cut through parchment with it.”
A third sighed. “And he’s gotten so tall. I had to look up when I said hi. And that smile ...”
“Are we still pretending he’s not the most attractive boy in Slytherin?”
Ominis sipped his tea carefully, pretending not to listen.
Sebastian was beside him still, probably oblivious, legs sprawled in front of the fire, humming softly to himself as he tapped his wand against his knee.
He didn’t seem to know he’d apparently had a glow up over summer so extreme every girl at school sighed dreamily when he walked past them. Ominis even overheard some boys muttering about how unfair it was that "Sallow got to grow even taller" and "had a killer hairline."
Sebastian's obliviousness was infuriating.
The way he teased Ominis exactly the same way he always had, grabbing his shoulder to pivot him toward the Great Hall, or brushing fingers against his arm when they walked side by side. Every touch sent Ominis’ heart scrambling like a first-year on their first day, and Sebastian just... carried on, utterly unaware of the effect he had.
It had to be verified.
Casually. Discreetly.
Scientifically.
Imelda Reyes was not, in general, someone Ominis enjoyed conversing with. She had a sharp voice and a sharper tongue, and she seemed to take personal offense at anything that slowed her down. But she was blunt, and right now, Ominis needed blunt.
They were paired in Potions that week — Professor Sharp’s new idea to mix up partners — and Imelda had been scribbling notes while stirring something that smelled like burnt marshmallows and regret.
“Reyes,” Ominis said before his mind could remind him of what a bad idea this was. “Quick question.”
“What?” she muttered, not looking up.
Ominis cleared his throat, made sure to lower his voice as to not alert Sebastian, who was chuckling heartedly a few tables over, where he was paired with Garreth Weasley.
“Would you say Sebastian is… considered good looking?”
There was a beat of silence. The cauldron bubbled thickly.
“What?”
“Nothing important,” Ominis said quickly. “I’m just curious. People have been saying things.”
She turned slightly toward him. “You’re not serious.”
Ominis tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because everyone thinks he’s good looking,” she said, deadpan. “Literally half the school’s been talking about it since Monday. Even some of the Gryffindors, and they usually can’t stand him.”
Ominis raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Imelda scoffed. “He’s tall now, for one. Girls are obsessed with that. He’s got this whole ‘rugged brooding hero’ thing going on. Bit cocky, but it works for him.”
“Hm.”
“And he’s got this... thing with his voice now? I don’t know. People melt when he says hello. It’s disgusting. I mean, if you're into the whole 'handsome puffskein with no impulse control', I'm not one to judge, but ...”
Ominis tried to suppress a smile. “Interesting.”
Imelda's voice turned suspicious.. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Ominis said quickly. “Just curious.”
She didn’t sound convinced. Just then, their cauldron made a worrying, blubbering sound, and their focus instantly shifted back to their task at hand.
Garreth was easier to manipulate. His mind was probably already far away, contemplating new potion recipes to mix up and cauldrons to blow up. He didn’t think twice if someone asked him a slightly unusual question.
They crossed paths in the library, both reaching for the same Charms textbook.
“Garreth,” Ominis said, pulling the book toward himself, “a question, if you don’t mind.”
“Shoot.”
“Hypothetically, if someone were... good looking, would you say that’s something people talk about?”
Garreth laughed. “Er, I mean—sure? Depends on the person. Are we talking about Sebastian?”
Ominis paused. “Maybe.”
“Then yes. Bloody everyone’s been talking about him.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Even some of the professors have been sneakily admiring. Not saying names, but you know.”
Ominis didn’t, and didn’t want to. “You’re saying he’s... widely regarded?”
“As an Adonis? Yeah.” Garreth grinned. “Why? Planning to recruit him for some Veela blood experiment?”
“Merlin, no,” Ominis said, half-laughing despite himself. “Thanks.”
Garreth chuckled. “Tell him to keep doing whatever he’s doing. It's working.”
Ominis’ heart was beating alarmingly fast when he exited the library. He wasn’t sure if he liked the answers he’d gotten so far.
Poppy was kinder. Calmer. She had a way of speaking that put people at ease, which unfortunately made it harder for Ominis to lie to her.
They sat near the edge of the courtyard, books open, the soft sound of owls drifting through the nearby tower.
“Poppy,” he said, pretending to adjust his collar, “do you think Sebastian is... conventionally attractive?”
Poppy blinked. “Where is this coming from?”
“Nowhere. Just... people have been whispering things.”
She tilted her head, considering. “Well, yes. He’s handsome, I suppose. Sharp features. Tall. Bit of a mischievous smile.” She laughed lightly. “Honestly, I think he’s always had a bit of charm. He’s just grown into it.”
“Hmm.”
Poppy paused. “Are you... worried about it?”
“No,” Ominis said too quickly. “Not at all. Just making observations.”
She smiled, and he could hear it in her voice. “Well, your secret’s safe with me.”
“I don’t have a—”
“Of course you don’t.”
That evening, Sebastian flopped down beside him again in the common room, leg brushing against Ominis’ like it was nothing. Like it was normal.
It was normal. That was the problem.
“Long day,” Sebastian sighed. “Did Garreth look at you funny in Charms, or is that just me?”
Ominis felt his mouth twitch. “No funnier than usual.”
Sebastian chuckled a bit absentmindedly, flipped open a book and started muttering about how it should be illegal to assign so many chapters when they’d barely been back for two weeks.
Ominis stared straight ahead, willing his heart to slow.
He wanted to say something. To ask, do you know what you’re doing to me? Do you know what everyone thinks of you now?
Instead, he said nothing, and let himself enjoy the feeling of Sebastian’s thigh pressed against his in the cramped couch.
That night, Ominis lay awake long after Sebastian’s breathing had evened out across the room. He listened to the soft rustle of sheets, the occasional creak of bedposts, the far-off hoot of an owl outside the window. The castle had finally quieted, but his mind had not.
He rolled onto his side, facing the direction of Sebastian’s bed even though he couldn’t see it.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. Looks were irrelevant. They always had been. And anyway, he knew Sebastian. He knew his sharp tongue and fierce loyalty and the way he hummed tunelessly when he read. None of that had changed.
And yet—
And yet.
Ominis pressed a hand over his chest, where something unnameable was beginning to ache.
He wasn’t sure what it was.
But he had a feeling it was going to get worse.
He had been right. Four days later, things were just as bad.
“Did you see the way he tied his tie today?”
“Sebastian Sallow could ruin my life and I’d thank him.”
“Every year he gets hotter. It’s offensive, honestly.”
And the worst part? Sebastian was utterly unchanged.
He still talked too much at breakfast, still dragged Ominis into far-too-early walks around the lake, still steered him away from obstacles like Ominis was some fragile doll instead of someone perfectly capable of navigating his own bloody path.
If anything, he was being more tactile lately.
And Ominis, for all his practiced calm and clipped sarcasm, felt like he was fraying at the edges.
So when they were alone in the Undercroft one afternoon, the stone cool around them, their books long abandoned in favor of lazy conversation ... Ominis didn’t mean to ask it.
But he did.
He blurted it out between one of Sebastian’s trademark chuckles and a casual mention of Poppy’s latest Hippogriff sketch.
“Sebastian,” Ominis said before he could change his mind.
Sebastian shifted beside him, turning a page in his book. “Hmm?”
Ominis hesitated.
“What do you look like?”
There was a pause.
Then a laugh. “Well, I think devastatingly handsome is the phrase you’re looking for—”
“I’m being serious.”
The room quieted. He could feel Sebastian shift beside him.
“…Oh,” Sebastian said, more subdued. “You’ve never asked before.”
“I know,” Ominis said tightly. “I never… needed to. But … I’ve noticed your voice has changed a bit over summer. And … I heard some people mention you looked different.”
There was a silence. Ominis wondered if the question perhaps had been too personal.
It just felt unfair that everyone else got to see and enjoy the apparently marvelous sight that was Sebastian Sallow, and Ominis would miss out. He’d heard people mention Sebastian’s looks in passing before. How his “brown hair was completely covered in goo when Weasley’s cauldron exploded”, or how their professors sighed about his "mischievous smile” and “the up-to-no-good glint” in his eyes. He'd felt Sebastian's firm chest and narrow frame in his arms on the few, brief instances they'd hugged.
But he’d never asked Sebastian for a description himself.
“…Okay.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Let me think.” He snapped his book shut and set it aside.
Ominis turned his head slightly, lips pressed together. He could feel his heart beating in his throat.
“I’ve got…” Sebastian began, a little awkwardly. “Freckles. A lot of them. They’re across my nose and cheeks, mostly. I’ve never liked them much, but other people say it’s… cute. Or whatever.”
Ominis said nothing.
“My hair’s brown. Thick. A bit too thick, actually—I can never get it to lie flat. Always looks like I just got out of bed, even when I haven’t.” He paused. “It’s kind of wavy, I guess. Not long. Not short. Messy.”
Another pause.
“My jaw’s… sharper than it used to be. Apparently. People keep commenting on it. I don’t really notice, but…” He laughed, self-conscious now. “Oh. My eyes are brown too. Boring brown. I always wanted green. Or blue. Something interesting.”
“They’re not boring,” Ominis said, before he could stop himself.
Sebastian hesitated. “Thanks.”
He cleared his throat again. “I’ve grown a bit during summer, but Garreth’s still taller than me, I think. I guess I don’t have as much baby fat anymore. In fifth year, I looked like a mandrake trying to diet.” He chuckled. “I’ve always heard I’ve got a body built for Quidditch. I’m not sure what that means exactly. Perhaps that I’m pretty broad-shouldered, but still got a slim waist and long legs. And … That’s about it, I think. Why do you ask?”
Ominis tried to shrug. “Curiosity. I just… wondered.”
“Do you want me to describe you?”
Ominis froze. This was not how things were supposed to go. “What?”
“You’ve never asked about yourself either.”
He hesitated. “I know what I look like.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve heard enough from others.”
“Then hear it from me.”
There was something different in Sebastian’s voice now. Lower and quieter. The teasing was gone.
Ominis didn’t know what to say. “I… Sure.”
Sebastian inhaled slowly, thoughtfully.
“You have really sharp cheekbones,” he said softly. “People would kill to have cheekbones like you. They're sculpted. Dramatic. Like some old wizarding portrait.”
Ominis felt his face heat. His throat was dry.
“Your skin’s pale. Sort of luminous in dim light, like moonlight. You’ve got these super straight eyebrows that make your eyes look really framed. Intense. I don’t think you know how intense you look when you’re thinking.”
Ominis sat perfectly still, as if movement might shatter something fragile between them.
“Your mouth—” Sebastian paused, then pressed on. “It’s very... precise. The way you speak, the way you purse your lips when you’re listening. You look like someone who was carved from stone and then came to life.”
Ominis couldn’t breathe.
“And,” Sebastian added, quieter now, so quiet Ominis could barely catch it—
“You’re really beautiful.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ominis sat frozen in place, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He felt exposed. Undone. Like someone had pulled back his skin and looked directly at the raw parts beneath.
“I—” he started, but nothing came out.
Sebastian didn’t say anything else. No teasing quip to deflect the weight of what he’d just said.
Ominis wanted to turn his head, to reach out, to say something, but his body refused to move.
And Sebastian, after a long beat, simply said, “Sorry. That was probably too much.”
“No,” Ominis said quietly. “It wasn’t too much. It was… a lot. But not too much.”
Their shoulders were barely an inch apart. Ominis could feel the warmth radiating from Sebastian’s arm, and all he could think about was how often Sebastian touched him without thinking—how often he thought about it. He wondered if Sebastian ever felt anything in those brushes of fingers. If he ever noticed the way Ominis tilted toward his voice like it was gravity.
He wondered if he’d just found his answer.
“Right.” Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly and stood up. “I’m off to bed, I think.”
And the moment was broken.
It had been a day since the conversation.
Since Sebastian had said Ominis was beautiful. Since he'd spoken those words so quietly and so earnestly that they’d carved themselves into Ominis’ ribs.
And now everything was strange.
Not overtly — Sebastian still sat beside him at breakfast, still dragged him into conversations he barely cared about, still touched his arm when guiding him through the castle’s shifting corridors.
But there was a hesitation there now. A distance between them. A quiet, heavy thing.
Ominis couldn’t stand it.
By the next evening, he was tired of not knowing. Their conversation the day before had left him open and vulnerable, like he’d been cut open with a scalpel for a surgery and he now lay open on the operating table, but the surgeon had gone home.
He found Sebastian sitting alone in the Undercroft, muttering softly as he flipped through a Defense text. His voice was steady, but Ominis could hear the slight distraction in it.
“Sebastian.”
Sebastian looked up instantly. “Hey. I didn’t think you were—”
“I need to say something.”
Sebastian froze. Then, slowly, closed the book and set it aside.
“Okay.”
Ominis took a deep breath. His fingers twitched at his sides.
“I’m not… good at this sort of thing,” he began, voice taut. “But if I don’t say something now, I’ll keep spiraling, and I refuse to spiral over you.”
“Right,” Sebastian said carefully. “That would be ... terrible.”
Ominis almost smiled. “Listen. If what I said yesterday made things weird — if it made you uncomfortable — then I’m sorry. I wasn’t fishing. I wasn’t expecting anything. I just… It came out.”
Sebastian was quiet.
“I’ve been thinking maybe I misread everything. And if that’s the case, I’ll stop. I’ll ... put some distance between us. If that’s what you want.”
The words tasted bitter. It was silent for a moment.
Then, very quietly, Sebastian said, “Ominis, if there is any more distance between us, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Ominis exhaled. “So I didn’t misread it?”
“I don’t know what you read,” Sebastian said, voice unusually soft. “But I know I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About what you said. About what I didn’t say.”
He stepped closer, though not touching, not yet.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Sebastian added, almost in a whisper. “But I want to. If you… if you want to.”
Ominis turned his face toward the voice. His pulse was thudding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips.
“I want to.”
It hung between them.
Then — slowly, haltingly — Sebastian leaned forward. Their foreheads brushed. It was clumsy. Ominis couldn’t see, and Sebastian wasn’t sure where to start. For a second it felt like they’d missed entirely. Then Ominis tilted his head the slightest bit, and their mouths met.
It was soft. Tentative. Barely even pressure. They pulled back, then leaned in again.
This time, their lips found each other more easily. Still a little awkwardly, but bolder.
Sebastian tasted like the treacle tart he’d eaten at dinner, and ink from where he’d definitely been chewing on his quill, and something that was just Sebastian: warm, soft, and inviting.
When they finally drew apart, Sebastian’s hand lingered at the curve of Ominis’ jaw. They stood in silence, breathing the same air, suspended between everything they hadn’t said and everything that had just changed.
Then Sebastian huffed a soft, almost embarrassed laugh.
“I forgot to describe one thing,” he murmured. “Your mouth. Criminally shaped lips. A really defined Cupid’s bow and a plush bottom lip. It looks like it was made to kiss.”
Ominis blinked, lips parted.
“That was sappy,” he muttered, face hot.
He could hear the grin in Sebastian’s voice. “I’m aware.”
Ominis turned slightly toward him, chuckling a bit to relieve the tension. “You know, I still have no idea what you actually look like.”
Sebastian laughed—really laughed this time, all warmth and ease.
“Well, apparently you don’t need to. You’ve got the important parts down.”
“Mm.” Ominis raised an eyebrow. “And which parts are those?”
Sebastian stepped forward again, brushing his hand along Ominis’ wrist, not quite taking it, just resting there. “The ones that want me back.”
Ominis rolled his eyes, reached out to loop an arm around Sebastian’s neck, and tugged him in for another kiss.
Ominis paused under the warm glass overhang in the greenhouse, waiting for Sebastian to emerge from speaking with Professor Garlick about some absurd plan involving venomous tentacula sap. The sun was unusually strong for a late September day, and Ominis tilted his face toward it, listening idly to the flow of passing students.
And then, just a few steps behind him, came the voices.
“Did you see Sallow and Gaunt in the courtyard earlier?”
“Oh, I know —he touched his shoulder, like, three times.”
“And Gaunt smiled. Like actually smiled. Not that usual terrifying smirk thing he does—an actual smile.”
“I think they’re dating.”
“Are you serious?”
“Come on. You don’t touch someone like that and linger unless there’s something going on.”
There was a groan. “Damn it. I was hoping to shoot my shoot this year.”
“Well. So much for that. Sebastian Sallow’s off the market.”
Another dramatic sigh. “Unbelievable. Of course Gaunt gets him.”
Ominis felt a grin creep up before he could stop it. He couldn’t help but straighten his already perfect posture a little, thinking smugly about how he’d woken up in Sebastian’s bed this morning.
The girls shuffled away, still muttering about how “nothing’s confirmed”, and “maybe I could ask Sebastian in a few weeks.”
He schooled his expression quickly as Sebastian approached, a bit breathless from the stairs, brushing greenhouse dust from his sleeves.
“You look smug,” Sebastian said, nudging him with a shoulder. “What’d I miss?”
“Oh, nothing,” Ominis said airily, reaching out for Sebastian’s hand and interlacing their fingers. “Nothing at all.”