Archive of Our Own

i. wonder if she thinks of me as her first kiss

The first time Poppy Sweeting kissed Ominis Gaunt, it didn’t mean anything.

Fifteen and participating in her first juvenile party game, she flushed brilliantly when the bottle landed on him, but the cheers and jeers of the classmates surrounding them didn’t really give her a choice — not that she really minded.

“We don’t have to if you’re not…” he started to say, sensing her surprise. “If you’re not comfortable.”

Poppy had given him a hesitant smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “I don’t mind,” she said, “so long as you’re okay with it.”

Imelda Reyes, who had provided the empty bottle, raised her glass of butterbeer. “Get on with it!” she called, and the cheers of the others in the room didn’t stop until Poppy crawled across the circle to Ominis, placing a chaste kiss on his flushed cheek.

ii. it’s nice to have a friend

After that, their acquaintanceship bloomed into something new — friendship.

They walked to class together, said hello to each other in the hallways, and talked.

Ominis ranted to her about Duncan Hobhouse and told her of Sebastian and Anne’s latest escapades — she told him about her beasts and her gran, though she didn’t mention her parents or the things she’d witnessed; not yet.

One day in late spring by the Kneazle pens, Poppy caught a glimpse of a scar beneath his sleeve, jagged and cruel.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked, looking over at him.

Ominis sighed. “I suppose there’s not a delicate way to put this,” he said. “My family… is far from ideal.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. “That’s…”

“Awful, I know,” he said hollowly, as though he’d simply accepted this as a fact of life by now. “They cast the Cruciatus Curse on Muggles for sport. Shortly after I got my wand, they demanded that I cast it, and when I refused, they cast it on me. When they asked me to cast it again, I did it.”

She reached for his hand, entwining her fingers with his before squeezing gently. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said. “You didn’t cast the curse.”

“Still,” she replied. “It’s not your fault.”

Ominis softened, squeezing back lightly. “Thank you.”

They stood in silence, hands entwined for a moment before Poppy spoke again.

“It’s not really comparable, but I understand what it’s like to have a family that doesn’t understand you.”

“You do?”

She nodded, blinking. “I know I haven’t really talked about my parents,” she said, “and that’s because they’re poachers.”

He squeezed her hand again, and it gave her the bravery to keep going. “I tried to leave, once — there was a Hippogriff they were trying to capture, and they were going to kill her, so I tried to free her and leave, but…”

Poppy trailed off, helpless, and Ominis connected the dots. “It didn’t work, did it?”

“No,” she said quietly. “And they haven’t let me visit my gran since then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

iii. uh-oh, i’m falling in love

In their sixth year, the well-worn veneer of friendship chipped away into what had been there the entire time — love.

There was no grand declaration, no specific moment when their weekly visits to the beast pens or to Hogsmeade began to become love — perhaps it was their kiss under the mistletoe at Christmas, or when Poppy fell asleep on Ominis’ shoulder during a study session in the library. Later in life, if you asked them when it began, neither of them would be able to pinpoint the true beginning, but they could easily agree that once it had begun, it became clear; while neither Poppy nor Ominis were known for being troublemakers, the sheer amount of detention they served for indecent displays of affection in the hallways could rival Sebastian’s record.

They picnicked together on the lawn, kissed in the Undercroft (although Sebastian protested when Ominis showed it to Poppy, a quick reminder of the new fifth year drained all the fight out of him), and spent their days by the beast pens.

Poppy introduced him to Persephone, to Gerald, to each of her beastly friends, and he always smiled and said hello.

iv. i love you, i’m sorry

The first time Poppy Sweeting told Ominis Gaunt she loved him, she was crying.

(They had both known it was love, of course — neither of them was so oblivious as to mistake the days and nights and mornings and afternoons they spent together for anything else — but it was their first time saying it, and that meant something for Poppy.)

She was in the Undercroft after having fled the Great Hall — the paper she had clasped in her hand shook with the force of her sobs, the words blurring before her eyes. Ominis had seen her rush out and followed her there, worried for her sake.

“Poppy?”

She wiped her tears, tried to compose herself. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled, then cleared her throat. “It’s a letter from my parents. They want me to marry a Selwyn.”

Poppy could see it then, her despair reflected on his face as he watched the future they’d dreamt up — where they married after school and spent their days traversing the Highlands together — shatter.

He paused for a moment, then pursed his lips. “Why?”

“The Selwyns are connected to poaching,” she said. “It’s strategic.”

“Do you have a choice?”

“No,” she said, because she knew it was true, no matter how much she wanted it not to be. “I don’t.”

Ominis reached over and held her, drawing her into his arms as she cried into his chest. “I don’t want to,” she said. “I don’t want to marry him. I — ” she took a shaky breath. “I love you.”

“I know,” he replied, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. “I love you too.”

When Poppy Sweeting kissed Ominis Gaunt that night, they both thought it would be the last time.

v. your opal eyes are all i wish to see

When Ominis got the invitation, he cried again. It felt so wrong, seeing her name like that — you are cordially invited to the wedding of Poppy Sweeting & Vincent Selwyn — it should have been his name on the parchment next to her, should have been his name she was taking.

(Okay, so maybe not his name — when they’d talked in school, sitting on the hillside and making crowns of flowers, he’d made it clear that he would love nothing more than to get away from his family name, that he would take hers if they ever got married — but still.)

He didn’t go to the wedding. 

Poppy knew she shouldn’t have looked at the crowd as much as she did, knew that she’d get a lecture for it later, something from her parents about association with the Gaunt boy, but she risked it anyway, scanning the room.

When she didn’t see him, she cried — maybe she could pass her tears off as something happy, as something disbelieving that she was so lucky to marry Vincent Selwyn, but she could feel her parents’ disapproving stares on her from the pews.

She got the invitation a year later, and she cried that night, refusing to tell her husband why — you are cordially invited to the wedding of Ominis Gaunt & Grace Pinch-Smedley.

She went to his wedding and regretted it, regretted having to watch the somber look in his eyes as he slid the ring onto Grace’s finger, regretted having to listen to the vows.

Regretted it all.

vi. without ever touching his skin, how can i be guilty as sin?

When Poppy Selwyn got the letter from Ominis Gaunt, she didn’t know what to think.

It was short, cordial, distant — words she never would have associated with him.

I’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow night — I’ve been thinking about our time in school. If you’re interested in reminiscing, I’ll see you there.

She didn’t tell Vincent where she was going.

They talked for hours — about their days in school, the fun they’d had, their friends, their lives today — about everything but their marriages.

Nothing happened beyond that — it was just talking.

So why did she feel so guilty?

vii. illicit affairs and clandestine meetings

When Poppy Selwyn kissed Ominis Gaunt for the first time in years, neither of them thought of it as wrong.

They’d kept seeing each other — late nights at the Leaky Cauldron (he walked her home and squeezed her hand at the door) turned into late nights at the Three Broomsticks (but then Ominis had noticed Violet McDowell — Northcott now — looking at them strangely, and she was friends with Grace), which turned into late nights at the Hog’s Head (if anyone their told Grace or Vincent, neither of their spouses would believe it).

They both knew that this was something — things between them could never be nothing at all — but they’d just kept talking.

So, as they’d walked the darkened streets of Hogsmeade, fingers intertwined, Ominis tensed.

“What are we doing?” he whispered.

“Talking,” Poppy replied. “Walking.”

“What are we really doing, Poppy?”

She looked up at him, and they stopped walking. “Why are we doing this if not to be together?”

“It’s wrong,” he argued, though she could tell his resolve was wavering as he leaned closer to her. “I’m married.”

“I know,” she murmured, and then their lips met.

It wasn’t the chaste kiss they’d shared the first time, nor the tangle of lips, teeth, and tears that their goodbye had been.

It was desperate and firm and gentle all at once — years of regret, of what-ifs, of it could have been you, it should have been you.

It hadn’t stopped there.

When Poppy got back to her house, finding Vincent waiting for her, she muttered some excuse about visiting Imelda, and he’d taken it at face value.

They grew more blatant after that.

Poppy didn’t think anything of it. If she’d ignored the scent of perfume and firewhiskey that she smelled on Vincent on the nights when he took until sunrise to crawl into bed, surely he was ignoring the smell of Ominis’ cologne on purpose. 

Surely.

viii. drink my husband’s wine

The next time Ominis Gaunt saw Poppy Selwyn, she was scared.

They’d met at their usual table in the Hog’s Head, but Ominis was the only one sitting.

“Vincent knows,” she said, frantic as she paced back and forth. “He — Merlin, he’ll kill you.”

“Are you all right?” Ominis asked, voice urgent. “Did he — ?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Aren’t you listening? Ominis, you need to go. Get out of here, go somewhere else — Ireland, or Wales.”

“Grace won’t do that,” he said. “And the Ministry — ”

Poppy shook her head, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Then I’ll go. I won’t let him hurt you.”

She began to turn on her heel, but —

“Wait — ” Ominis called after her.

Her cheeks were wet when she looked back at him.

“I love you,” he told her.

She softened. “I love you too. That’s why I’m going.”

When Poppy Selwyn kissed Ominis Gaunt for the last time, it meant everything.

ix. he’s gonna burn this house to the ground

That night, Selwyn Manor burned. 

Poppy Selwyn was still inside.

It was not a freak accident, despite what Vincent told the Daily Prophet reporters who came knocking.

He did not miss her.

x. i’ll meet you where the spirit meets the bones

No one knew why Ominis Gaunt was at the graveyard.

Perhaps, some speculated, it was to pay his respects to his late father, Silas.

Or maybe he simply liked the atmosphere.

Those who saw him at the Selwyn plot assumed he’d come to gloat to the dead family members of the man he’d helped put in Azkaban for murder.

No one was close enough to see what he truly was there for.

“I miss you,” he said to Poppy Selwyn’s gravestone as he laid down a bouquet of daisies — her favorite, though there was a single poppy tucked between the other blooms.

Then, he drew his wand.

Those who witnessed the sight at Poppy’s grave didn’t understand why someone would alter the name on her grave. It was the Selwyn plot, after all, and that was what she’d married into.

Still, every new gravestone bought by the patriarchs of the house of Selwyn eventually read Poppy Sweeting instead, until there was no longer a point in replacing them.

It was her name, after all.

As for Ominis, he disappeared — made a few clandestine payments and left behind the vipers who had ruined it all.

No one could say for certain when, but after some time, a second gravetone appeared next to Poppy Sweeting’s.

It read Ominis Sweeting.