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Breakfast in the Great Hall was usually a noisy, half-distracted affair: clinking cutlery, the occasional squawk of an owl dropping post, Garreth whispering some dangerous new idea for spiking pumpkin juice. Ominis had woken early and taken a long bath, and was neatly buttering a toast while listening to his housemates chatter listlessly around him. The perks of bathing before breakfast was that the bathrooms had been empty, and his hair was just beginning to dry and fall over his forehead with a soft curl.
It was all very peaceful. Quiet. Until Sebastian showed up.
“Right,” he said as he plopped down onto the bench beside Ominis, plate already in hand. “I’ve decided. If we ever got married, we’d have to go with Sallow-Gaunt. Has a much better ring than Gaunt-Sallow.”
Ominis, who was halfway through a sip of tea, nearly choked. He coughed, sputtered, and set the cup down with a clatter. “I — pardon? Why on earth would we get married?”
“Hypothetical,” Sebastian said cheerfully, stabbing a sausage with unnecessary force. “Just came to me. Sallow-Gaunt flows better. Rolls off the tongue. Whereas Gaunt-Sallow sounds like an illness, don’t you think?”
Ominis wiped his mouth with deliberate care, as though prolonging the silence would restore order to his morning. “The question of whether we’d ever be in a position to need a shared surname seems more pressing than the order of it.”
“Don’t avoid the issue,” Sebastian said with mock solemnity. “It’s very important. Think of all the paperwork. All the owls we’d have to sign. We can’t go into it unprepared.”
“I see no need to prepare for situations that will most definitely never happen.”
“Ouch, Ominis.” Ominis didn’t need to see to know Sebastian was theatrically clutching his chest. “Haven’t even left the courthouse yet and you’re already annulling our marriage.”
“I—!” Ominis flushed, indignant. Sebastian had a talent for working several of his blood vessels into overtime at least once a day, but the offhand mention of marriage sent an unfamiliar flutter through his stomach that he very much did not appreciate.
“We’re not getting married!” is what he eventually settled for, fumbling over the table for something, anything, to do with his hands. His fingers found his abandoned slice of buttered toast, and he promptly smeared jam across it. He didn’t even like jam, but at least it kept his hands busy.
Sebastian sighed dramatically, clicking his tongue. “Didn’t you hear me? Hypothetically. We’re best mates, Ominis. It’s required reading. Page twenty-three of the Best Friend Handbook.”
Right, Ominis thought, with a pang of bitterness. Best friends.
“If I must contribute to this … juvenile conversation,” he said loftily, spine rigid, “I’d argue Gaunt-Sallow has the stronger ring to it.” He delivered it as though he were entertaining the thought for the very first time, and not as though the idea had ever kept him awake at night.
“Trust you to want your name first,” Sebastian sniffed, chewing as he spoke. Normally, Ominis would have chastised him for such atrocious manners, but at the moment he was too busy gripping his toast and willing himself not to unravel over the conversation. “Is this some pure-blood thing? Can’t stand to be second?”
“You know very well I have little affection for the Gaunt name,” Ominis replied crisply. “You were the one who suggested hyphenated surnames. And if so, I still prefer Gaunt-Sallow.”
“Alright, alright.” Sebastian took a slow sip from his mug, clearly thinking hard. “So what if we ditched the hyphen and picked just one? Personally, I think Ominis Sallow has a rather nice ring to it.”
Ominis nearly dropped his toast in outrage. “You want me to take your surname?”
Sebastian hummed, deliberately noncommittal. “Why not? Has a bit of a poetic lilt.”
“It has a bit of an illness,” Ominis shot back. “Sallow? What are you trying to imply? That I’m on my deathbed?”
“I’ll have you know the name Sallow has a proud and tragic family history full of questionable decisions and great hair.”
“Well, you wouldn’t last five minutes in the House of Gaunt.”
“Wouldn’t want to,” Sebastian shot back, sipping his juice. “Sounds exhausting. All that brooding and Latin.”
Ominis was deeply, viscerally offended. “It is an ancient house.”
“It's a dramatic house. There’s probably a room in your manor just for sighing in velvet robes.”
Ominis took a deep breath. Merlin, he was indulging this conversation way too much. Coldly, with his composure regained, he said: “If anyone’s changing their name, it’s you. Sebastian Gaunt has presence.”
“I thought you didn’t like your surname?” Sebastian shot back.
“It’s the family I despise,” Ominis retorted. “The name itself I find rather elegant. Sharp. Memorable.”
“Gaunt literally means thin. Malnourished.”
“And Sallow is any better?” Ominis sniffed. “We’d sound like a pair of consumptives wasting away on a fainting couch.
“Maybe,” Sebastian conceded, leaning back with a smirk in his voice. “Guess we’ll be remembered as tragically beautiful then.”
Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is absurd.”
“Absurdly important, you mean.” Sebastian tapped his spoon against the rim of his mug like a gavel. “Alright, then, so we can’t have Ominis Sallow. We can’t have Sebastian Gaunt. What’s left?”
Ominis pursed his lips. He should never have entertained this. “We drop both surnames entirely.”
“Go the celebrity route?” Sebastian brightened. “Just one name. Like… Merlin. Or …” he paused for effect, “ … Salminis.”
Ominis’ head snapped toward him so fast he feared for his neck. “What. ”
“Salminis!” Sebastian announced, grinning wide. “It’s got power, doesn’t it? Rolls right off the tongue.”
“That sounds like a dreadful seafood dish.”
Sebastian laughed so hard he nearly choked on his juice. “Fine, fine. No Salminis.”
Ominis turned prim, smoothing his sleeve. “Then we return to hyphenated surnames. I still say Gaunt-Sallow.”
“Wrong order.” Sebastian folded his arms stubbornly. “Sallow-Gaunt.”
Ominis raised his chin. “Gaunt-Sallow.”
“Sallow-Gaunt,” Sebastian shot back immediately.
They went back and forth, volleying names like Bludgers across the table until Ominis snapped, “You’re insufferable!”
“And you’re stalling,” Sebastian said. “Which means you know I’m right. Sallow-Gaunt. It just sounds better.”
“It sounds like a law firm.”
“Exactly! Reputable. Reliable. Fearsome in court.”
Ominis hesitated, which was all the victory Sebastian needed.
“You’re imagining it, aren’t you?” Sebastian said, leaning close. “Professor Weasley calling out, ‘Mr. Sallow-Gaunt?’”
Ominis’ cheeks flamed. “Stop it.”
“‘Mr. and Mr. Sallow-Gaunt,’” Sebastian continued relentlessly, clearly savoring every syllable.
Ominis’ tea had gone cold. He couldn’t stand this anymore.
“If it gets you to shut up before class, then fine. Sallow-Gaunt.”
Sebastian sounded surprised.
“You’re agreeing? To Sallow-Gaunt?”
“I’m compromising,” Ominis corrected. “Which is what one does in a marriage, apparently.”
He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. Suddenly, he felt like he’d leaned too far in on the joke, and was left hanging over the edge. Sebastian had a tendency to cloud his judgement, to make him speak before he had time to think.
Now, Sebastian let out a low laugh. “You realize you just called this a marriage, right?”
Ominis stiffened. “I did no such thing.”
“You did.” Sebastian leaned forward on his elbows, grinning shamelessly. “And I’ve got a witness.”
“You are not a reliable witness.”
Sebastian continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “You’d make a terrifying spouse. All ultimatums and sharp words.”
“And you’d make an abysmal husband. You’d be the type to leave the dishes in the sink and forget to buy milk despite me reminding you three times before.”
“Maybe, but I’d love you just right,” Sebastian said flourishingly, and Ominis throat went very dry. “I’d come home late from work with a bouquet of red roses just for you… though since you’re blind, I could probably just buy the cheapest one I find and tell you they’re red.”
Ominis did not like how quickly this conversation was spiraling.
“You’d put a red sock in the white laundry, wipe the kitchen counter with a wet rag, and then claim you’d ‘cleaned,’” he retorted.
“Once again: you’re blind. You’ll never find out about the sock,” Sebastian said smugly. “We’d make a perfect match. You always wake up early and fix us our morning tea. I pad into the kitchen way too late and hug you from behind and you scold me for making you burn the eggs. Since I’m awake later than you, I’d be responsible for the washing up after dinner.”
Ominis flared, desperate to distract himself from the vivid picture Sebastian had painted. “Once again,” he said heatedly, “you’d wash the dishes in cold water, leave them to ‘soak,’ and I’d end up doing them in the morning anyway.”
“See?” Sebastian leaned back, smiling with mock satisfaction. “You know me so well. Sounds like we’d balance each other out perfectly.”
Ominis didn’t reply. Now that the discussion of surnames had wound down, it suddenly felt less funny. Less hypothetical.
Silence stretched for a beat too long, the clatter of cutlery around the Great Hall fading into background noise. Ominis forced himself to take a bite of his jammed toast, though the taste barely registered.
Sebastian cleared his throat and leaned back again.
“Well. Hypothetically, of course.”
He was quiet for a few minutes, which was unlike him. Ominis took another bite of his tasteless toast and wondered what could possibly be running through his mind.
“Naturally,” Sebastian said at last, clearing his throat. “We can’t get married without even having gone on a… date together.”
Ominis licked his lips, trying not to panic at the implication. “Well,” he said carefully, “good thing we’re not getting married, then.”
“Yes,” Sebastian agreed quickly. “I just thought—well, you know. With the whole surname debate… it’s good to be prepared. In case it ever… happens.”
Ominis frowned, trying to parse what he meant. “You want to go on… a preparation date. Which isn’t even a real date, just a… hangout to see what it would be like to go on a date?”
“I mean, yeah? Kind of?” Sebastian admitted, his voice unusually hesitant. Ominis blinked in surprise. This was not the tone he expected from his normally impulsive, hot-headed friend.
“How is this different from a normal hangout?” he asked, suspicious.
Sebastian shifted awkwardly on the bench beside him. “I mean, I could… treat it as a date, just to know what to do if I’m ever on a real date,” he said. “I could pick you up outside our dorms and guide you to Hogsmeade — by the elbow, for the romantic touch — so you wouldn’t need to use your wand. And… I could buy you a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Just the two of us. No Garreth third-wheeling, no Amit inserting himself with a lecture about the latest star constellation he discovered.”
Ominis tried very hard to understand how this was not a date.
But as always, when it came to Sebastian, any ounce of sensibility Ominis had was thrown out the window.
“Alright,” he said slowly, brow furrowed. “I suppose… it could be a good idea. To prepare.”
“You think so?” Sebastian sounded instantly hopeful, and simultaneously tentative in a way that made Ominis’ chest tighten.
“I suppose,” Ominis admitted, though his voice lacked conviction. "Let's ... go on a preparation date."
“A practice date,” Sebastian confirmed, his usual confident charm returning. “How about… this Saturday?”
Ominis blinked and wondered how, just half an hour ago, he’d been buttering his toast, thinking about Charms homework and the essay he still needed to finish over the weekend. And now… here he was, in a hall buzzing and clattering with breakfast chatter, agreeing to a practice date with his best friend.
“Alright,” he conceded finally. “This Saturday.”