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Ominis Gaunt could not quite tell at what point the rhythm of his friendship with his childhood friend Sebastian, and with Jane—who had arrived at Hogwarts directly in her fifth year two years earlier—had begun to change. All he knew was that for several months now, their study sessions, usually shared by the three of them, had been conspicuously absent.
But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Sebastian had taken to returning to their dormitory at unholy hours several nights a week. Nothing unusual in itself where Sebastian was concerned—it was the reasons that often left Ominis perplexed. Some murky business of bets with Weasley, a round of magical dueling, a late-night trip to Hogsmeade… and in every case, these adventures seemed to spring up so spontaneously that he could never be warned beforehand. Yet the strangest thing was that Sebastian was not the only one disappearing from the common room. Jane too. At first, he thought she was simply spending a few evenings in her dormitory, and even if he had wanted to see her, there would have been no way to go and fetch her (with the enchanted staircases, he would win nothing but a trip down a slide). Still, until recently they had been inseparable, bound together by the adventures and tragedies that had marked their fifth year. As the weeks rolled by, however, he was forced to admit that these sudden disappearances involved the both of them.
That morning, Ominis had woken to the surprise of finding the bed beside his occupied, though it had been empty when he’d drifted off to sleep. Breakfast time was approaching, and after washing and pulling on his uniform, he set about waking his friend. From Sebastian’s breathing, Ominis could tell he was deeply asleep. The idea of waking him gently crossed his mind only briefly before being swept aside by the bitterness that had been steadily mounting of late. What excuse will he come up with this time to justify his absence last night? He drew back the curtains of Sebastian’s four-poster, grabbed the pillow, and tugged it sharply away. The result was immediate. Sebastian let out a long, drowsy groan which, far from soothing Ominis’ annoyance, only deepened it.
“Up. It’s time for breakfast.”
All he got in return was an exaggerated yawn. A few weeks ago, Ominis would have been amused at his state, but not anymore.
“I’ll wait for you in the common room. Hurry up, I’m starving.”
A vague grunt followed, which Ominis interpreted as agreement, and a few minutes later they were leaving the Slytherin common room together, heading toward the Great Hall.
“Are you going to tell me where you were last night?” Ominis asked, his tone colder than he could control.
Sebastian’s answer came quickly.
“I was wandering the Room of Requirement after dinner and lost track of time. I stumbled into a maze of trinkets and antiques that must have piled up there over the centuries, since the founding of the school. I thought I’d never get out! I even found the diary of a Potions Master from the fifteenth century. I hoped it would contain something worthwhile, but it was nothing more than sappy poems dedicated to Penelope, the school nurse, who clearly had no interest in him whatsoever…”
His voice was hoarse with obvious lack of sleep, and Ominis could hear him rubbing at his eyes now and again. Still, his resentment refused to fade. He spent the rest of the walk to the Great Hall wrestling with how to broach the matter that weighed so heavily on him. He had the distinct impression of being left behind, and he felt the need to say so. The real challenge, though, was finding a moment when the three of them could meet outside of class—something that had become increasingly rare.
They entered the Great Hall and took their places at the Slytherin table. Despite his blindness, Ominis needed no guidance from Sebastian to know where to sit. He didn’t need to see Jane to know where she was—he could feel her presence. Just as he never needed help locating his oldest friend in a crowded room. Magic had taken the place of his eyes; he did not see, but he had learned to sense the subtle variations of magical currents in those he spent his days alongside.
He sat beside Jane, who as usual handed him a steaming cup of tea and a plate of toast. Jane had always been considerate with him, something that had unsettled him at first. He had feared she acted out of pity, or concern that his blindness might keep him from managing on his own. But two years of friendship had proven otherwise time and again. She simply enjoyed preparing his breakfast—she took joy in small kindnesses for those she cared about. Kindness was a quality Ominis valued deeply in Jane. He often wondered what had led the Sorting Hat to place her in his house. He had never seen in her a burning ambition, and she was too honest to achieve her aims through cunning. On the other hand, he had to admit she possessed great ingenuity, and when she wanted something, she found the means to achieve it. Even so, he remained convinced she would have fit perfectly well in Hufflepuff. The thought of her in another house always left him conflicted. He wanted only the best for his friends, and she surely would have been more at ease among those who shared her warmth. Yet at the same time, the mere thought of losing her company stirred an animal protest deep in his chest—one that subsided only when he forced his mind elsewhere.
The tone of her voice as she greeted him was not unlike Sebastian’s. She, too, had clearly not slept much. Jane made no effort to strike up conversation, keeping her eyes instead on the quiet depths of her coffee. Ominis waited, hoping she might volunteer an explanation of her own about where she had been the night before. But the longer the silence stretched, the more he realized that once again, he would have no choice but to force the truth to the surface.
“I was looking for you in the common room last night,” he said.
There was a brief pause. For a moment, he wondered if she had actually fallen asleep over her breakfast, but then he felt her turn toward him.
“I wasn’t feeling very well,” she began slowly. “I went straight to bed after dinner.”
Every word seemed to cost her an effort. She was visibly fighting off exhaustion.
“And are you feeling better?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice.
“Yes, but I barely slept. I’m exhausted…”
“Did you go to the infirmary?”
“I… I knew it would pass on its own.”
Jane had clearly spent a dreadful night, and he had thought only of himself. A sudden shame swept through him, and the resentment that had been swelling in his chest these past weeks deflated like air from a balloon. The rest of the day passed pleasantly. Jane and Sebastian insisted on going out into the grounds despite the freezing winter weather, to enjoy the rare gift of a sunny afternoon. Ominis disliked winter. He hated the cold, the damp that seeped into his shoes as he walked through the snow. He could not even enjoy the supposedly magical sight of the castle blanketed in white, sparkling whenever a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds. To him, snow’s only virtue was its aesthetic; everything else was, objectively speaking, nothing but inconvenience.
After the meal, they settled into the comfortable sofas of their common room and savored the warmth of the fire.
“I think the funniest part was when he claimed her gaze could strike down a Basilisk, and that a single smile could bring him back to life like a Phoenix!” Sebastian laughed, recalling the poems he had discovered in the old diary.
He stretched his arm dramatically toward the ceiling, fixed an invisible point above him, the other hand pressed theatrically against his chest, and declaimed:
“Penelope, oh Penelope,
Your deadly stare could fell a Basilisk,
Yet from your smile I rise again,
Like flames reborn within a Phoenix.”
“If he ever recited one of those to her, no wonder she wasn’t interested,” Ominis remarked with a faint smile.
Sebastian snorted with laughter.
“Please, if I ever become like that, lock me up!”
“I suppose by ‘like that,’ you mean in love?” Jane asked, her tone sharp.
“Drowning in syrup and incapable of thinking of anything else—yes.”
She snapped the book she had been leafing through shut.
“I think you never should have read that diary. And mocking what he felt makes it even worse.”
It was only then that Ominis realized she hadn’t spoken a single word during the entire exchange.
“What’s wrong with thinking of the one you love? Not everyone is lucky enough to be Sebastian Pallow, making every girl in the school swoon with a grin and a clever line. He was in love, whether you believe it or not—it isn’t something you can control!”
She stood abruptly, left the sofa, and strode away without another word. Ominis could not understand his friend’s anger. True, perhaps it hadn’t been the most mature conversation they’d ever had, but her reaction seemed wildly disproportionate. She could easily have told them to stop without losing her temper. He heard Sebastian sigh deeply, and before he could say anything, the sofa’s springs shifted again.
“Jane! Wait!”
Sebastian’s footsteps joined the noise of the common room, and once again Ominis found himself alone. He sat frozen on the sofa, the air still vibrating with Jane’s anger. Why that outburst? Because they had laughed at a professor who’d been dead for three centuries? Absurd. No, it wasn’t that. She had spoken of Sebastian, of his charm, his conquests… and the acid in her voice had been anything but trivial.
Jealousy? For whom? Some girl Sebastian had flirted with? Or… for Sebastian himself? The thought gave Ominis a sickening jolt. Jane, in love with him? Impossible. Nothing, ever, had suggested such a thing. And blind or not, he would have known—he would have felt it.
He tried to convince himself, but Jane was not the sort to flare up over trifles. Unless it touched her directly. Perhaps she wrote poems herself… perhaps she had seen herself in those words they had mocked.
The resentment he had harbored against Sebastian for weeks seized the chance to sink its roots deeper. Always Sebastian. Always that careless laugh, that way of turning everything into a joke. And in spite of his constant detentions, girls seemed to swarm around him as reliably as those punishments piled up in his record. Yet thinking about it, it wasn’t talent but recklessness. Sebastian spent more time in detention than anywhere else… Charming, really? Ominis sighed. And still, it worked. On Jane, too?
The next morning, Ominis took advantage of the weekend to sleep late into the day. Sebastian was still snoring, and he decided not to wake him. The night before, he had asked whether Sebastian had spoken to their friend, but Sebastian had dodged the question, pleading exhaustion. It wasn’t until lunchtime that Ominis received anything resembling an answer—and in a way as unexpected as it was disconcerting.
His blindness had sharpened his hearing to a razor’s edge, coupled with a stealth to rival a Demiguise. Nothing was easier for him than eavesdropping unnoticed—a skill most convenient for keeping track of everything said and done in the common room. At that moment, however, he needed no effort at all to catch what Imelda Reyes and her companions, Mathilda Lawrence and Judith Clarkson, were whispering about.
“We can all agree it’s suspicious,” said Imelda. “It’s not the first time she’s gone missing at night. And you all saw what happened yesterday evening.”
“The fight?” Clarkson replied. “Yes, she seemed upset. She stormed out of the common room with Pallow right behind her, and she didn’t return to the dorm until the middle of the night.”
This sparked a chorus of giggles.
“It’s not the first time,” Lawrence whispered. “She didn’t come back the night before either.”
“And who showed up to class the next morning with bags under her eyes a mile long?” Clarkson drawled, stretching every syllable into mockery.
Imelda cut back in firmly.
“It’s obvious. They disappear together, they’re always whispering… everyone knows. You’d have to be blind not to see it!”
CLANG!
Their chatter was cut short by the sound of cutlery clattering against porcelain. Ominis froze, his hand clawed in the empty air, fork somewhere under the table. It felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. His fingers still trembled where they had dropped the utensil. He rose abruptly and left the Great Hall, his hurried steps echoing against the stone floor. He let his body carry him to the only place where he could smother the tide threatening to drown him: the Undercroft.
Imelda’s words circled endlessly in his mind, hammering against his temples. They disappear together. Everyone knows. Blind not to see it.
Jane had lied to him. Sebastian too. No—worse still: they had lied together.
Pain clenched in his chest, growing sharper every time he replayed the scenes of the past weeks: the vanishings, the fatigue in their voices, the argument yesterday… It had nothing to do with those ridiculous poems. She hadn’t been upset about a fifteenth-century professor—she had been upset because of Sebastian.
A bitter laugh caught in his throat. How could he have been so naïve? He had believed himself their friend, their confidant, when all the while they…
He cut the thought short. Because what loomed behind the anger was worse. A heavy sadness, unbearable. As though some part of him had already accepted the idea of losing them.
He paced. Again and again, along the frozen walls of the Undercroft, like an animal trapped in a cage. Anger, jealousy, shame—all of it tangled together. And every time he tried to quiet the storm, a single image returned: Jane laughing with Sebastian, Jane choosing to vanish with him instead of with him, Jane turning her back.
He clenched his fists. No. Better hatred than this emptiness.
By dinnertime, Ominis decided to return to the common room to confront his two friends, and he was not surprised—though no less irritated—to find them absent. So he did what he regretted not having done earlier: he waited. The hours dragged, the common room emptied. Eleven o’clock, midnight, half past twelve—the last student finally climbing the dormitory stairs. One o’clock, two o’clock… and at last, past three, footsteps echoed down the spiral staircase, accompanied by muffled laughter.
“…we still have the top of the Astronomy Tower and…the greenhouses,” Jane was listing.
“And when your infernal list is done—will it really be done?” Sebastian snickered.
“I can always add more stops, you know?”
“Am I interrupting?” Ominis’ voice cut through the air, making them jump at the bottom of the staircase.
“O-Ominis?” Sebastian stammered. “You… you’re not asleep?”
“Obviously not,” he retorted.
A heavy silence stretched between them.
“Do I really need to ask you again?”
“We… we were just…” Jane mumbled hesitantly.
“Planning your next nightly rendezvous?” he finished for her.
“No, no, not at all,” she protested quickly. “We—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Ominis exploded. “By Merlin, I caught you red-handed! I may be blind, but I’m not stupid!”
“We never thought that!” Jane defended herself.
Rage boiled in him, but beneath it something else gnawed at his chest, a feeling he refused to name.
“Then why the secrets? Why the lies? Did you think I wouldn’t find out from others what you’ve been hiding? That my two best friends sneak off together behind my back?”
“Ominis, there’s nothing between us,” Jane whispered, her voice small.
“Where did you even get that idea, mate?” Sebastian asked, with a laugh that rang false to Ominis’ ears.
“From a source more reliable than either of you, apparently. And you’ll be glad to know that from now on, you won’t have to lie anymore just to be together—because from this moment on, you’ll be together all the time.”
He didn’t give them the chance to reply. Ominis turned toward the dormitory with the firm intention of never speaking to them again. He heard Jane’s footsteps chasing after him, her voice calling his name, but he shut the door behind him, smothering all attempts at discussion. He also anticipated Sebastian’s return, drawing the curtains of his four-poster shut. The two of them had argued before—their fifth year had been full of clashes. Overcoming them had only strengthened Ominis’ belief in the indestructibility of their friendship. But now, in this precise moment, he felt something had shattered between them. He resented Sebastian as he never had before. And when he thought of Jane, the anger gave way to disappointment and grief. She, who to him had always been the very model of honesty and sincerity. She, who had always been at his side, trying to rein in Sebastian’s excesses, soothing the tensions, always finding the words to calm them both. She, whose daily attentions delighted him more than he would ever admit.
Perhaps Ominis was still too much of a “boy” to interpret the signals her presence stirred in him. Surely too afraid of rejection, too afraid of losing her, preferring to bury those feelings rather than risk disfiguring their friendship. But Sebastian clearly hadn’t felt the same restraint. Sebastian had always acted without caring about consequences—that recklessness had earned him his reputation as Slytherin’s favorite daredevil, and more than that, as the cynical, rakish “bad boy” adored by half the school. Ominis had always been amused by the way Sebastian seemed, without even trying, to draw girls’ attention as inevitably as Nifflers to a pile of Galleons. Today, that same knack made Ominis want to smash something over his head. How had it come to this? When had it started? At what moment had Sebastian, the self-centered adolescent, begun to care about someone enough to neglect their friendship?
For as long as Ominis could remember, Sebastian had found relationships unbearable. The constraints, the responsibilities—important as they might be for teenagers—had always been obstacles he couldn’t tolerate. None of his romances had lasted longer than a month. He hated feeling confined. As soon as the label of “Official Boyfriend” was stuck on him, he lost interest. Dates became obligations he dragged himself to reluctantly. And yet, judging by the conversation Ominis had interrupted, the list of places they had shared late-night adventures was long, and Sebastian hadn’t seemed to mind in the least.
For a fleeting instant, Ominis wished he weren’t blind. It was an old thought, worn out from being repeated a thousand times before Hogwarts, before Ollivander, before he had felt for the first time a wand vibrating in his hand, becoming an extension of himself. No one could ever understand what that meant to him: a liberation. That day, he had “seen” for the first time. And from then on, he had never envied anyone else’s eyes. He too could see—different things, yes—but things no one else could. All the varieties of magical signatures: the timid, the flamboyant, the steady, the volatile… He usually read people well—their magic could not lie. And yet, now, he would have given anything not to have been born blind. To see the signals he had missed, the signs he had failed to interpret.
He had overheard enough conversations of lovestruck girls in the common room to know how it went. The stolen glances, the inability to look away from the chosen one, the flushed cheeks, the smiles (By Salazar, how was he supposed to notice that?), the clammy hands (Jane and Sebastian’s hands had always been perfectly dry!), the “butterflies in the stomach” (what insects had to do with any of it was beyond him). His jaw tightened. More than ever, he hated the degenerate inbred line that had condemned him to this blindness. He was not naïve—he strongly suspected that the Gaunt family’s twisted obsession with blood purity had been the cause. Marriages only between cousins, and sometimes, though more rarely, even between brother and sister. He shuddered with disgust.
Not that he ignored the privileges his name afforded him. He had never hesitated to exploit the benefits that came with being a Gaunt. It was thanks to his family’s influence in the Ministry that he could continue to use his wand outside of school, despite the underage restriction laws. There was no doubt the council’s ruling would have been far less lenient had he been born a Muggle. Decadent as they were, his family still commanded respect from a few pure-blood circles, and their dark reputation ensured he was met with a healthy wariness by most students. He didn’t mind—he had always cherished the peace Hogwarts gave him, a peace that simply didn’t exist at home. There, the days were ruled by the tantrums and rages of relatives furious at watching their wealth dwindle year after year, their lifestyle crumbling. Ironically, peace in the Gaunt household was also ominous. When the house was quiet, Ominis knew exactly what his family was doing. The last time it had happened was to celebrate his brother Marvolo’s betrothal to their cousin—and what better way to mark the occasion than torturing Muggles?
He still carried the shame of that “initiation,” as his parents had called it. He could still feel the searing pain of the Cruciatus Curse his family had cast on him when he refused to participate—and the shame of eventually giving in. Sebastian had never understood why Ominis couldn’t forgive himself for what had happened that night, reminding him that at that age Sebastian still couldn’t tie his shoelaces. But Ominis knew: for the Cruciatus to work, you had to want it. He would never forget the dangerous turn of thought that had allowed him to torture those innocents. He knew he would forever be haunted by the screams and sobs he had caused. Ominis envied the innocence of his fellow students, an innocence that had been stained by dark magic long before he had ever held his first wand.
This sad retrospective of his life did nothing to improve his state of mind. He eventually collapsed from exhaustion, trying in vain to temper his anger.
The next morning, upon waking, Sebastian tried several times to start a conversation, but Ominis kept his word. Ignoring Jane at breakfast had been easier than expected, for unlike Sebastian—who kept trying again and again—she had simply fallen into silence once he had made it clear that they had nothing left to say to one another. What followed were the longest weeks Ominis had ever lived at Hogwarts.
Christmas holidays were fast approaching, along with sign-ups for those staying at school during the break. With his eighteenth birthday falling on Christmas Eve, and knowing his family’s more than questionable taste in “festivities,” Ominis decided it would be far safer to remain at Hogwarts. And with a bit of luck, they might even forget to send him a card.
He quickly learned that Jane and Sebastian had also signed up. No surprise where Sebastian was concerned, not since Solomon’s death and Anne’s refusal ever to see him again. Jane, however, had always gone home to her family for Christmas. Truly inseparable now, Ominis thought bitterly. With time, Sebastian had stopped pressing him, and Jane had never tried to reach out again after that breakfast scene. He rarely crossed paths with them in the common room, and when he did, Ominis either left or turned back on the spot.
The holidays finally began, and with them came a heavy load of assignments. With the NEWTs looming at the end of the year, the professors had been merciless. The pile of parchment alone was enough to make him dizzy. Yet he had to admit, without Sebastian’s constant distractions, he was making progress faster than usual—so much so that by the morning of December twenty-fourth, he had finished nearly all of it. Only about fifteen inches of parchment on the effects of healing spells for Defense Against the Dark Arts remained, along with an essay on the magical discoveries of Ancient Egyptian wizards and their influence on later civilizations for History of Magic.
He had not expected Sebastian to ambush him before he had even crawled out of bed.
“Sleep well?”
Ominis sighed. He didn’t want to talk, but Sebastian gave him no chance to respond and carried on.
“Look… I know you don’t want to talk to us anymore. I know there’s no point in arguing or trying to justify myself because, yes, we lied to you. More than once, even. And in your place, I’d probably have been angry too.”
Ominis gave a bitter smile.
“Nice of you to admit it, but—”
“But wait,” Sebastian cut him off. “Wait until you have the context. Then, and only then, you can make the irrevocable decision never to speak to us again.”
Such a tragedian, Ominis thought with a sigh. Then suddenly, a heavy box filled his hands.
“The box is enchanted so that the potions come out in a very specific order. That’s the order you have to drink them.”
“What are you—”
Before he could finish the question, the box was already there, heavy in his lap.
“Happy birthday, Ominis.”
It was weighty, clinking with the sound of glass vials knocking together. A moment later, he heard the door close behind Sebastian.
Ominis said nothing, stunned by what had just happened. What did it mean? What context? As if answering his unspoken questions, he felt a drawer in the box slide open under his fingers, and a vial settle into his hand. But as he pulled the cork free, a thought crossed his mind. What if I simply refused to drink it? he challenged inwardly. He could just as easily ignore it, make them feel the frustration he had endured these past weeks. But did he really want to be that kind of person? Sebastian was still his oldest friend. Deep down, Ominis hoped everything could return to how it had been, but for that, he would have to give them a chance.
He set the box beside him on the bed and raised the vial to his lips.
He had no idea what to expect. The taste was neutral, like water, though the texture was strangely mist-like. But he had no time to linger on it, because an entirely new sensation overwhelmed him. Suddenly, he was dizzy—and then, in an instant, he stood before someone in a place of extraordinary… color? He was engulfed by a kaleidoscope of hues, details, textures. Normally, his wand allowed him to perceive outlines, sketches of shapes around him, like drawings in a notebook. That was what enabled him to move so effortlessly through the castle. But this—this was nothing like that. He could see the person before him, sitting on a bed, looking at him. A girl, in a dormitory laid out much like his own. She smiled and took a deep breath.
“Hello, Ominis.”
It was Jane’s voice. Ominis’ heart skipped a beat. By Merlin—what was happening?
“If you can hear me, and if you can see me, it means we’ve succeeded. That our efforts weren’t in vain. You must feel utterly lost right now, but don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. Last year, Sebastian and I had the idea to prepare something special for your eighteenth birthday—the crazy idea of letting you see, of sharing our memories with you. A bit like a Pensieve. But the problem with a Pensieve is that it recreates memories around you without allowing the blind to actually see them. So we had to find another way. It took a long time, but with Professor Sharp’s help, we managed to create a potion that allows us to share memories straight from our eyes into your mind.”
At that moment Ominis realized he wasn’t actually standing in front of her—she was looking into a tall mirror set up in her dormitory. He couldn’t believe it: so much light, so many colors, so many reflections—and yet, nothing drew him away from her. He recognized the lines of her face, the contours he had once traced with his fingertips just to imagine what she looked like. He saw the curve of her cheekbones, the outline of her lips, the shape of her eyes. It was breathtaking. He could see her, and he wanted to see nothing else. A sudden jealousy stabbed through him—for all those who had already looked upon her, for those who didn’t even realize how lucky they were to behold her every day.
“It took us months. Sebastian was sure Sharp would refuse to help, but he joined us right away. After we perfected the recipe, we discovered the potion was incredibly time-consuming to brew. And alongside that, we had to collect—or even create—the memories we wanted to include. That’s why we’ve been absent so often lately. I’ll pass things over to Sebastian now—you can drink the second potion. And… happy birthday!”
She gave him a dazzling smile, and then came another blinding flash. His senses reeled as his surroundings dissolved, and a moment later his normal world returned. He needed a few seconds just to catch his breath. Then, before he could think further about what he had just experienced, another drawer slid open, and he grasped the second vial, downing it without hesitation. Another flash, another figure.
Sebastian. Ominis’ breath caught. He would have recognized him even without Jane’s warning. He didn’t need to hear his voice—he knew him by the cadence of his breathing, by the freckles and the smirk everyone described.
“Hey Ominis. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I just hope it works, because I must look like an idiot talking to myself in front of a mirror. Anyway, I thought it’d be more memorable to just throw the memories straight at you, but Jane insisted on a proper introduction so we wouldn’t overwhelm you.”
He rolled his eyes.
“So, I’ve got this whole list of things I’m supposed to say—” He shook a piece of parchment in his hand, “—to make sure I don’t forget anything and stick to the plan.”
That crooked grin appeared again, promising trouble.
“So. The box contains six potions. Starting with the next one, we’ll be sharing memories of times the three of us spent together, and some with Anne before Jane came along. We couldn’t merge our memories into a single potion, so each vial belongs to one of us. The next one has Jane’s, the one after that mine, and so on. Obviously we had to make choices—we couldn’t put in everything. Each vial can only hold so much. Oh, and don’t believe what she told you: this potion isn’t just time-consuming—it’s a nightmare to make. We figured six would be enough, even if we wasted two just to talk, when we could’ve simply explained it all later…”
Sebastian sighed in exasperation.
“So? What are you waiting for? Potion number three!”
Ominis didn’t hesitate. The moment he lifted the vial to his lips, the now-familiar burst of light engulfed him. Suddenly, he was in the Slytherin common room—he recognized the layout of the furniture, the enchanted windows looking out onto the Black Lake. For the first time, “green” was more than just a word. The world unfolded in an infinite wealth of details that made his head spin.
He saw Sebastian, sunk into a worn sofa with a book open on his knees, talking to someone beside him. A laugh rang out, strangely familiar in Ominis’ ears. It took him several seconds to remember he was seeing through Jane’s eyes—and that the one laughing beside Sebastian was himself. For the first time in his life, he was seeing himself. He couldn’t have said whether he liked what he saw—it was simply him. A strange sensation, meeting oneself like a stranger. But he quickly looked away, focusing on everything else. Everything seemed charged with detail: the paintings, the columns, the stained glass. He smiled at the sight of a group of first-years crowded before the windows, hoping to glimpse a mermaid or the giant squid.
He barely had time to glance back toward Sebastian before the scene melted away. Now he sat before a table piled with food—clearly, the Great Hall. He was to Jane’s right, eating his usual plate of morning toast. Sebastian sat across from her, gave a conspiratorial wink, then raised his arms theatrically toward the enchanted ceiling. Ominis’ eyes—Jane’s eyes—swept over the hall. It was utterly marvelous. The stained glass of the four Houses glittered brilliantly, reflecting colors across the staff table. Hundreds of candles floated, illuminating the morning mist in the enchanted ceiling overhead, as countless students filled the long tables below. He had never imagined so many colors could exist.
Again the scene shifted, and a blinding light warmed his face. His feet were in the water, near the shore, while Sebastian dozed in the shade of a tree beside two pairs of shoes. Through Jane’s eyes, he saw himself walking in the shallows with her, hand in hand. He remembered that day—the past summer, just before the end of term. The heat had been unbearable, and they hadn’t resisted the urge to dip their feet in the Black Lake.
He could hear the thread of their conversation. Or rather, her conversation, as he listened, about the aquatic plants that might grow in the lake. The view shifted, and his head swam at the sight. Hogwarts loomed, immense, its towers stretching endlessly skyward. But his contemplation ended abruptly when a splash of cold water hit his face. He smiled at the memory—he remembered finding that a very effective way to stop her monologue about plants. She burst into laughter and splashed him back.
The return to reality was gentle. Hands trembling, he grabbed the next bottle. He found himself in a noisy, warm room, a butterbeer in his hands. The Three Broomsticks. He heard Sebastian’s voice—clear as if it were his own—ordering a second round from Sirona, who was weaving between the tables. Jane was beside him, picking at peanuts. He also realized Sebastian was tall, which changed his whole sense of faces. Jane suddenly seemed very small between them, and the cascade of hair down her back sparked an irrepressible urge to run his fingers through it. He tore his eyes away from her—almost reluctantly—to watch Sirona set three tankards before them and treat them to the round. Such gestures had become common since Jane and Sebastian had rid Hogsmeade of that troll in fifth year.
Again the scene shifted. He heard the crunch of snow beneath his shoes and found himself in the grounds. Jane walked between Sebastian and him, clinging to an arm of each. Sebastian and she listened to him grouse about the cold and the snow. She shot Sebastian a conspiratorial glance, and he turned to take in the castle, blanketed in a thick cover of snow glittering under sunlight. Ominis had to squint against the glare, but soon his eyes adjusted, and he could drink in the spectacle. He could have stayed there for hours, he admitted—but the memory dissolved, making way for another.
Now he was in the Undercroft, playing Gobstones with a girl who wasn’t Jane. He didn’t need to hear her voice to recognize her. Anne. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. To hear her laugh again—before the curse that took her from Hogwarts, before all that pain, before Sebastian’s downward spiral, before Solomon’s death. He watched himself play with her in carefree innocence, reliving a time that would never return. He wanted to step into the memory, to warn her, to change the course of things—but before he could dwell on it, the world changed again. The Quidditch final, last year. Slytherin’s Seeker went into a breathtaking dive, and seconds later Imelda Reyes and her team were clustered at midfield, hoisting the Seeker as she brandished a closed golden ball in her fist, housemates roaring in euphoria. The memory thinned, and Ominis was back in his dormitory.
Only two potions remained. Without thinking further, he uncorked the next. The three of them were in a deserted corridor. Jane paced past Barnabas the Barmy’s tapestry, and a door formed in the opposite wall, granting them entrance to the Room of Requirement. Jane’s curated kingdom. He was once more seeing through her eyes, and after Sebastian’s point of view, he couldn’t help thinking how enormous the world felt when you were small. They passed a cozy sitting nook, her beloved plants, potion stations, and entered one of her vivariums. He was immediately the center of attention for every manner of creature which, in real life, had always superbly ignored him whenever he set foot there. Nifflers, Kneazles, and Puffskeins wound about his feet, tripping him at every step; Hippogriffs cleaved the air to reach their caretaker and tug at the sleeves of his robes for attention. She returned with two Nifflers and hastily deposited them into their arms.
“Meet Won-Won and Harry. Mind them while I check on my baby Graphorn—they’re keeping me from getting any work done!”
Before she had even finished, Harry had scaled Sebastian’s shoulders to perch atop his head, and Ronron had whisked away Ominis’ tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and was yanking with all his might at the gold pendant around his neck. Ominis finally understood the fit of laughter she’d had that night.
They were in Potions next. Professor Sharp moved among the cauldrons, scanning students’ brews, pausing now and then to offer advice—when a deafening blast shook the room.
“WEASLEY!!!”
Herbology. Jane was helping him pack fresh soil around his Chinese Chomping Cabbage. Sebastian amused himself by teasing the plant, slipping a finger between its jaws and whisking it away at the last instant. Then History of Magic: he saw himself asleep beside Jane, who was fighting the school’s most potent soporific—Professor Binns. The scene faded again, and the potion’s effects ebbed.
He was holding the last vial between his fingers. The final memories would be Sebastian’s. He was eager to see what waited inside—but it also meant it would be the end. After this, reality would return for good. He pulled the cork and drained it in one swallow.
To his surprise, he was facing Sebastian again, in their dormitory—just as in the second potion. Sebastian had his usual nonchalant air, save for faint shadows under his eyes.
“Hey, Ominis. At the risk of getting scolded by Jane for not following her plan to the letter, I’ve decided to take a few liberties. I’m counting on you not to get me into trouble.”
He gave his reflection a crooked, melancholy smile.
“These memories are all about one person. I just hope you’ll understand… Anyway. You’ll see soon enough. And if you still don’t get it after this, then there’s nothing more we can do for you.”
The scene changed. The setting sun washed the sky in an extraordinary gradient of colors that briefly stole his breath. A telescope to Sebastian’s left told him they were atop the Astronomy Tower. Jane stood to his right, leaning on the balustrade. Ominis noted he was not part of this memory. Looking closer, Jane didn’t seem to be enjoying the view.
“I promise it’s going to be all right,” Sebastian said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
His face was the opposite of what Ominis had seen throughout these memories. The ever-present smile was gone. Her cheeks and nose were reddened. Her lips pressed together, and she turned away as the tears brimming in her eyes finally spilled down her face.
“Come here.”
Sebastian slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. A sob escaped her as she returned the embrace. Ominis’ heart squeezed painfully in his chest. What had he just seen? A new memory replaced it: the three of them in the library, working. Jane seemed lost in the contemplative study of Ominis’ profile, quill suspended a few inches above her parchment—until her eyes met Sebastian’s, and she hastily resumed writing.
They were in the Undercroft now, lit by the ruddy, flickering glow of the braziers hanging overhead. His best friend was looking at the two of them, seated side by side. Jane had her knees drawn up, her head turned toward Ominis, resting in the circle of her arms, listening as he spoke about what he hoped to do next year. A faint smile touched her lips, and on her face was a tenderness Ominis had never seen in Sebastian’s memories when she looked at him. That was the moment Sebastian chose to flick a pebble at her. She flinched, and her cheeks bloomed the same color as that sunset from the Astronomy Tower. She formed a silent “What?” which set Sebastian laughing and left the Ominis of the past utterly confused.
The grounds again, a hot summer day, beneath the same tree. They were lying in the grass. He recognized his own sleeping form, and once more she never took her eyes off him, even daring to comb her fingers lightly through his hair. Sebastian faked a cough, and she snatched her hand back as though burned.
“He had… a leaf in his hair,” she stammered, trying for a casual tone.
“Of course he did,” Sebastian drawled.
From there, the memories came so quickly he could barely keep up, lost in a whirlwind of gazes cast his way, fading and reforming in a wash of color. In the common room, in Charms, in Potions—until he could no longer discern the places around them. All he could see were those eyes, that tender smile that never left him…
Then suddenly, everything stilled, and he was in their common room, emptied of all but them, in the midst of a dispute.
“…And how do you think I’m supposed to react, finding out from others what you’ve been hiding? That my two best friends sneak around behind my back?”
Jane looked as though she had been struck by a Bludger.
“Ominis, there’s nothing between us,” she stammered, her voice strangled.
“Where did you get that idea, mate?” Sebastian laughed, as if it were the most ridiculous joke he had ever heard.
“From a source more reliable than either of you, apparently. And you’ll be glad to know you won’t need to lie anymore just to be together—because from now on, you always will be.”
He saw his own figure turn away, followed almost instantly by Jane’s, vanishing after him down the corridor to the boys’ dormitories.
“Ominis, wait! Please!”
Her pleas grew fainter, and the memory thinned, pulling him back into reality. He was once more in the seventh-year boys’ dormitory, his mind seething, still brimming with what he had just lived through. He couldn’t sort it out, didn’t know where to begin. He set the box and the now-empty vials at the foot of his bed and lay down, clutching his head.
It was incredible. Did they realize they had just given him the greatest birthday of his life? His mind was still drowned in an ocean of colors, lights, and landscapes he would never forget. And yet he had to admit: the last potion had nearly eclipsed all the others. The most beautiful discovery he had made was not Hogwarts, nor the Three Broomsticks, nor the classrooms—but, though the thought made him blush, the color of her eyes.
He had to see her again.
Quickly swapping his pajamas for proper clothes, he slipped quietly into the common room. Few students remained at Hogwarts for Christmas, and he was relieved to find no one else awake yet. Sebastian was pacing before the fire while Jane sat in the armchair beside him. They were silent, waiting anxiously.
He let the words hang in the air until he had crossed the last few steps separating him from his friends.
“…But I have to admit, this time you’ve outdone yourselves. You’re completely mad.”
He opened his arms and drew them both into a long embrace, which they returned with fervor.
“And yet,” Sebastian couldn’t help but add with a crooked grin, “I thrive on drama.”
“I’m sorry for everything I said to you,” Ominis murmured, ignoring the quip. “I was angry. I was…”
Jealous. But he would never admit it.
“Don’t worry, I get it,” Sebastian replied. “In your place, I wouldn’t have liked spending less time with me either—ow!”
Jane had just elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
“All the potions worked properly?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes. All of them.”
She let out a long sigh of relief.
“I was afraid I put too much powdered bicorn horn in potion number six. If I had, the effects wouldn’t have lasted long enough. You did see our trip to Diagon Alley at the start of the year, right? That was the last one on the list.”
“Uh…”
A sharp pain shot through Ominis’ shin. Sebastian had just kicked him. Ominis recalled what the last vial had truly shown him, felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and stammered a barely convincing, “Yes, of course.” Jane seemed to take his reaction as emotion, and thought no more of it. He didn’t need sight to know exactly what insufferable smirk stretched across Sebastian’s face.
“Well, all that aside—what do you say we discuss this over breakfast? I’m starving!” Sebastian exclaimed, striding briskly toward the stairs.
They followed at a calmer pace, letting him take the lead. On the way to the Great Hall, Ominis became acutely aware of Jane walking close beside him. The memories of the last potion surged up again, his heart racing. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to take her hand—but Sebastian’s presence, along with his own gnawing anxiety, kept him from it. He didn’t want his friend to see and seize the chance to tease him.
And then, as if reading his thoughts, Sebastian suddenly stopped in front of them just as they were about to leave the dungeons.
“I forgot my wand in the dorm! Go on ahead, I’ll catch up!”
Ominis couldn’t help thinking he was a dreadful actor, but he was grateful for the gesture nonetheless. They heard his footsteps fade down the staircase.
“Afraid of getting attacked by his scrambled eggs?” Jane scoffed.
They carried on, Ominis slowing his pace deliberately to give himself a moment longer to summon his courage. He heard the brush of their sleeves as their arms brushed together, then felt her hand graze his. Slowly, so slowly, throat dry, he slid his fingers along her palm.
Her answer was immediate: she twined her fingers with his. Only then did he realize he had forgotten to breathe. From Jane’s quickened breaths, he guessed she probably had too.
They had both stopped walking, each clearly waiting for the other, neither daring to take the leap. Jane was the braver one. With her free hand, she traced a path along his cheek, and he felt her breath draw closer. For a moment, he wondered if she was looking at him the way she had in the sixth potion’s memories. He hoped not. Because he wanted a look that would belong only to him. A look no one else could ever glimpse.
With gentle fingers, he lifted her chin and bent toward her lips. When she answered his kiss, he thought his chest would burst, unable to contain the pounding of his heart, the sensation of his feet lifting from the ground. After a moment—impossible to measure—he felt her smile against his lips.
“Sebastian didn’t really forget his wand, did he?”
“No,” he admitted.