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On the outskirts of a small magical village hidden among the Scottish hills stood a stone cottage covered in ivy, as if nature had decided to embrace it and never let go. It was the home of Sebastian and Ominis—not just a refuge, but a life built with patience, silence, and shared fires over the last three years.
What began as a friendship woven in the corridors of Hogwarts—amid the thick scent of potions and the complicit shadows of the Restricted Section—had slowly transformed into something deeper and inevitable. A love that didn’t arrive like lightning, but like rain that soaks you before you realize it has begun.
Sebastian was movement: tousled brown hair, brown eyes that burned with ideas even in silence. He lived as if the world were a broken artifact waiting for his hands. He planned excursions, dismantled enchanted objects like he was taking apart clocks of fate, and cooked improvised dishes that—at best—tasted like home… and—at worst—like smoke and laughter.
Ominis, on the other hand, was pause.
His pale skin seemed made of winter light, his blond hair caught the day’s reflections like frost, and his clouded eyes navigated the world through the whisper of textures, the pulse of air, the secret language of things.
The cottage was a testament to their union.
A stone fireplace where they curled up on cold nights, a kitchen full of pots and jars of exotic ingredients, and a bedroom with a large bed where their bodies intertwined like ancient roots, as if they had always grown toward each other.
They had faced storms together—literally, like the time Sebastian accidentally summoned rain that poured inside the house for hours—and the metaphorical ones too: the shadows of Ominis’s past with the Gaunt family, or the guilt Sebastian still carried from his decisions at Hogwarts.
But their love was like a perpetual Lumos, a small and constant light that pushed back the darkness without needing to fight it.
Lately, the air in the cottage had thickened with something new, a contained promise. For months Sebastian had carried a secret that burned in his chest: in the inner pocket of his cloak rested a simple silver ring crowned with a moonstone that caught light as if devouring stars. He had it forged in Diagon Alley by a goblin jeweler, choosing that gem because it reminded him—in its deep mystery, its subtle guiding glow—of Ominis’s eyes: those blind eyes that, without seeing, always found him in the darkness.
He imagined the perfect moment over and over—perhaps during a sunset in the garden, with the sky painted in roses and oranges that he would describe in detail so Ominis could “see” it through his words, or on a picnic by the nearby stream with the sound of water as their soundtrack, or even in the intimacy of their living room with a homemade dinner and floating candles.
Every day, Sebastian felt a bubbly excitement in his chest, like an effervescent potion about to burst. He wanted to ask Ominis to share the rest of their lives—not out of fear of losing him, but because he wanted to shout to the entire world that Ominis was his forever. But life had been full of distractions, postponing that perfect moment.
…
A week ago, everything changed for Ominis without Sebastian knowing.
Garreth Weasley, their old Hogwarts friend with his knack for explosive potions and hair like a living flame, had come to visit. Garreth was like a brother to Sebastian, and he arrived as he always did—unannounced, a bottle of firewhisky in one hand and the potential chaos of some new invention in the other. His presence always filled spaces like a restless spark, warm and dangerous at once.
He said he needed “expert advice” on a new creation of his.
But there was something in the way Sebastian led him to the garden that didn’t sound like simple camaraderie.
While Ominis prepared dinner—a venison stew with herbs from their garden that filled the house with earthy, spiced aromas—he finished stirring the pot and decided to call them in. He walked toward the back door, his wand emitting a soft hum that mapped the path, but he stopped when he heard low, conspiratorial voices.
“…it’s not that the ring is perfect,” Sebastian said quietly. “It’s that…it made me think of him instantly.”
Garreth raised an eyebrow.
“A moonstone made you think of Ominis?”
Sebastian let out a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, well…it sounds silly when you say it like that. But it doesn’t shine all the time, you know? It needs the right light to show anything. And…I don’t know, it reminded me of how he is. How you have to really know him to understand everything that’s there.”
Garreth looked at him in silence, so Sebastian kept talking, faster.
“I don’t want to ask him because ‘it’s the next step.’ It’s not that. It’s just…every time I try to imagine my life without him, it simply doesn’t work. Everything feels…wrongly put together.”
He shrugged.
“It’s not something big or dramatic. I just want to tell him I want to keep choosing him. Even when it’s complicated.”
There was a small pause.
“Though sometimes I worry he’ll think I’m…asking too much.”
Ominis froze behind the half-open door, his body suspended in the moment, as if the world had held its breath with him. The word didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
Marriage.
A wave of pure joy washed over him first, warm and effervescent, as if all the stars Sebastian described on clear nights had suddenly ignited inside him. He imagined an even more intertwined future: whispered vows, a shared life without end, laughter in old age. But almost immediately, the shadow loomed.
Fear.
A viscous, familiar fear that tangled in his thoughts like mandrake roots.
What if he wasn’t enough? Sebastian was a whirlwind of life—bold, charismatic, always pushing boundaries. He had faced dark curses, explored forbidden ruins; his love for adventure made him shine. Ominis, on the other hand, carried the weight of his Gaunt lineage like an invisible chain. His blindness, though he had turned it into a strength—listening to nuances others ignored, feeling vibrations that revealed hidden truths—sometimes made him feel vulnerable, dependent. Could he be the husband Sebastian deserved? One who wouldn’t fall behind in the madness, who wouldn’t need constant visual descriptions of the world? What if his insecurities—those that surfaced on sleepless nights remembering his family’s rejection—tainted their union? He didn’t want to be a burden; he wanted to be an equal, a perfect partner. But perfection felt like a distant ideal, like a Patronus that faded before it could fully form.
With his chest tight, Ominis retreated silently, his wand guiding him back to the kitchen. He pretended nothing had happened when he called them to dinner moments later, his voice as normal as ever. But that night, as they lay in bed with Sebastian curled against his back, murmuring innocent weekend plans, Ominis couldn’t sleep. His thoughts spiraled: joy mixed with terror, love tinged with doubt.
…
Since then, something in Ominis began to lean toward avoidance, though not obviously or abruptly.
But every time Sebastian tried to create space for intimacy, something inside Ominis reacted as if sensing the start of a fall.
The first time was in the garden, just two days later. Sebastian had prepared a picnic without announcing it: soft blankets, elf-made wine, pumpkin pasties. Nothing ostentatious, but the intention was clear.
The sunset painted the sky in shades Sebastian described vividly—“It’s like the sun is saying goodbye with a burning kiss, love”—and he took Ominis’s hand, his voice dropping to an intimate tone.
“Ominis…there’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
But Ominis felt panic rising like bile. The possibility of what was coming—what he knew was coming—rose inside him with unbearable clarity.
“Oh, Merlin! I think I left the tea boiling on the stove. God, it’s going to burn everything. I’ll be right back.”
He wasn’t ready.
There was no tea.
The excuse fell between them like something fragile.
Sebastian blinked, confused, as Ominis slipped away—his excuse so clumsy he nearly tripped over a root.
Inside the house, Ominis leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
I can’t do this.
Not yet.
Not until I know I won’t ruin it.
It wasn’t fear of marriage; it was fear of becoming the mistake in it.
…
The second escape came during a walk in the nearby forest. Sebastian intertwined their fingers, guiding him gently along the crunching path. The air was filled with the song of magical creatures, and everything felt too peaceful not to suspect.
“This place makes me think about our future, Ominis. About what we’ve built…and what we could—”
Ominis felt the ring in Sebastian’s pocket—his wand detected it as a subtle vibration—and fear flooded him.
“Did you hear that?” he interrupted. “It sounds like an injured kneazle.”
There was nothing, but his voice had already decided.
“It might need help.”
Sebastian opened his mouth, but Ominis had already let go.
Ominis walked away guided by his wand, though he wasn’t looking for any animal—he was only looking for distance. His heart beat with guilt even as he retreated.
…
Soon the excuses became a pattern, multiplying: “I need to check a Braille book urgently,” “I forgot to water the mandrakes,” “I have a sudden headache.” Each one flimsier than the last, but effective at avoiding the moment.
At first Sebastian attributed it to stress. But after the fourth escape—this time during a romantic candlelit dinner that Ominis “accidentally” extinguished—he began to worry. Was Ominis regretting it? Was something wrong with their relationship? That night, alone in the living room while Ominis “slept” early, Sebastian decided to act and sent an owl to Garreth requesting an urgent meeting.
The next day they met at The Leaky Cauldron. Garreth arrived with his usual energy, but upon seeing Sebastian’s tense expression, his smile faded.
“What’s wrong, Sallow? You look like you’ve seen a dementor.”
Sebastian sighed, stirring his butterbeer. “It’s Ominis, Garreth. Every time I try to create a moment to…you know, propose, he escapes. Ridiculous excuses, like he’s running from a boggart. At first I thought it was coincidence, but now… Do you think he doesn’t want this? That he’s regretted us?”
Garreth leaned forward, his green eyes shining with empathy. He had known both of them at Hogwarts and had always admired their connection.
“Listen, Sebastian, I know Ominis, and I don’t think it’s rejection. It’s fear.”
“Of me?”
“Of not being enough for you. Remember his family—the Gaunts raised him like he was a walking curse. His blindness, his refusal of dark magic…it left deep scars. He probably overheard our conversation that night at your house. He was preparing dinner, right? He could have heard from the door.”
Sebastian paled. “Merlin, you’re right. His hearing is incredible, but if he heard…why run?”
“Because he feels inadequate,” Garreth explained, his voice soft but firm. “You’re the bold hero charging ahead. Ominis sees himself as the one left behind. He probably fears he won’t meet your expectations, won’t be the perfect husband. I’ve talked to him about his doubts before, back at Hogwarts. He’s always been like this—hiding his fears under that stoic calm. You need to talk to him directly, but gently. Don’t pressure him. Make him know you love him for who he is, not for some perfect idea.”
Sebastian nodded slowly, processing the words. Garreth had always been the wise friend who balanced his impulses with logic.
“Thanks, Garreth. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The conversation stretched on with Garreth sharing Hogwarts anecdotes to lighten the mood—failed potions, friendly duels. Sebastian left the pub with a plan and a lighter heart. That night, he would return home and confront the issue with love.
…
Ominis was alone in the kitchen when Sebastian returned that night.
The house smelled of freshly baked bread, but not as something cozy—more like a carefully constructed distraction. He had spent the last hour kneading with almost desperate insistence, sinking his hands into the dough as if he could anchor himself to the present through something tangible. The sticky texture clung to his fingers—warm, alive, obedient…something he could control.
Unlike his mind.
The fireplace crackled softly, but it couldn’t warm the cold that had settled in his chest for days.
When he heard Sebastian’s footsteps on the gravel path, his heart responded immediately. Half longing, half terror.
It was always like this now.
Part of him wanted to run to the door; the other wanted to disappear before it opened.
Sebastian entered carrying the scent of the cold night on his cloak, along with the faint smell of butterbeer and tavern smoke. He closed the door carefully, as if afraid of breaking something fragile. Ominis didn’t need to see him to know how he moved. He felt the slight vibration when Sebastian set his wand on the table. The long sigh as he removed his boots. The change in floor pressure as he approached. His presence always filled the space before it touched.
“Love,” Sebastian said, his voice lower than usual, laden with a tenderness that made Ominis want to hide and hold him at the same time. “Are you okay?”
Ominis turned toward him, wiping his hands on the apron with mechanical movements. “Yes, just…finishing up cleaning. How was Garreth?”
Sebastian approached slowly, as if he knew any sudden movement might make Ominis retreat. He stopped a meter away—close enough for Ominis to feel the warmth of his body, but without invading his space.
“Good. We talked a lot.” He paused. “About us…”
The air thickened. Ominis felt the floor tilt slightly beneath his feet. He knew this moment would come—he had feared and desired it in equal measure. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“About us?” he repeated, trying to sound neutral.
Sebastian took a deep breath. “Ominis…I’ve noticed that lately, every time I try to talk to you, you leave…and I don’t think it’s coincidence.” His voice softened even more. “And I think it has to do with what you overheard that night in the garden.”
Ominis went still. Silence spread like thick fog. He could hear Sebastian’s breathing—quick, nervous, but controlled. He could feel his own heart pounding in his ears.
“Don’t deny it,” Sebastian continued gently. “Garreth helped me see it. Your hearing has always been better than anyone’s, love.”
Ominis closed his eyes—an useless but instinctive gesture. He felt tears gathering at the corners, hot and treacherous.
“Yes,” he admitted finally, voice barely a thread. “I heard everything.”
Sebastian didn’t move toward him immediately. He knew Ominis needed space when vulnerable. Instead, he spoke calmly.
“Then you know I’ve been planning to ask you for months…that I’ve had a ring in my pocket for weeks, that I dream about it every night before sleeping—you and me, a vow, an eternal promise.” He paused. “But you also know I haven’t done it yet, because every time I try, you run. And I don’t want to force you into anything, Ominis. I never have. But I need to understand why.”
Ominis swallowed. Words crowded in his throat like stones. Finally, he let them out—raw and trembling.
“Because I’m scared, Sebastian.” His voice broke on the last syllable. “Scared that I’m not enough for you. That one day you’ll realize you deserve someone who doesn’t come with so many…cracks. Someone who can see you without needing you to describe the world, who can follow you on adventures without hesitation, without needing you to explain the color of the sky or the shine of the stars. Someone who doesn’t carry the weight of being rejected by their own blood.”
Sebastian felt something break inside his chest. He took a slow step forward, and when Ominis didn’t retreat, he extended his hands palms up, offering shelter.
“Come here,” he whispered.
Ominis hesitated only a second before stepping forward. Sebastian wrapped him in a strong but careful embrace. Ominis buried his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent. The tears fell then—silent and pure, like fine rain relieving parched earth after a long drought, transparent drops rolling slowly, leaving silver trails on his skin and soaking Sebastian’s shirt.
“I don’t want someone perfect, baby,” Sebastian said against his hair. “I want you. With your shadows, with your doubts, with the way you listen to the world like it’s music. Do you know how many times you’ve saved me without realizing it? When I was lost after Anne, when I hated myself for my choices…you were there. You didn’t ask for explanations, you didn’t judge. You just held me and told me it was worth keeping fighting. That’s not weakness, Ominis. That’s strength—the purest I know.”
Ominis clung tighter to his back. “But…what if you get tired one day? Of having to describe everything? Of waiting when I walk slower because I can’t see obstacles? Of my nights when I wake up sweating from nightmares about my family?”
Sebastian pulled back just enough to cup Ominis’s face in his hands. His thumbs slid over the wet skin, wiping tears with a gentleness that contrasted with the tension in his fingers. He wasn’t trying to stop the crying—just making sure Ominis didn’t face it alone.
“Then I’ll describe the world a thousand more times. I’ll walk at your pace always. And when you wake from nightmares, I’ll be there to remind you you’re not alone in that darkness anymore. Because I have my demons too, love. And yours don’t scare me—they just make me love you more, because I know what it costs to get up every day and choose the light.”
Ominis let out a choked sob—half laugh, half cry. “You’re too good to me.”
“No,” Sebastian corrected firmly. “I’m telling you the truth. I’m not looking for perfection, darling. I’m looking for the person who makes me feel whole—and that person is you. It’s always been you.”
They stayed like that for a long time, embracing in the middle of the kitchen. The fire crackled, the bread cooled on the table, but nothing mattered more than that moment. Finally, Ominis pulled back slightly, though without fully letting go.
“Do you still want to ask me?” he asked quietly, vulnerable. “After all this?”
“More than ever,” Sebastian replied. “But I won’t do it tonight. Not because I doubt, but because I want you to be ready when I do. I want there to be no fear in your heart—only joy. And if that takes days, weeks, or months…I’ll wait. Because you’re worth every second of waiting.”
Ominis felt something inside him loosen, like a rope that had been taut for too long. He rested his forehead against Sebastian’s.
“I love you,” Ominis whispered.
“And I love you,” Sebastian replied, kissing his temple. “More than words can say.”
That night they slept intertwined, closer than ever.
Ominis didn’t dream of shadows. He dreamed of a ring shining on his finger, and Sebastian beside him, describing a future full of light.
…
The next day, Sebastian decided to give Ominis space to process. He didn’t mention the ring, didn’t seek grand gestures or romantically floating enchanted candles. They simply existed together in the quiet that sometimes heals more than words.
At sunset, when the sun filtered through the leaves like threads of liquid gold, Ominis stopped by the young mandrakes and ran his fingers over their velvety leaves.
“Listen,” he whispered. “The healthy ones sing differently. It’s like…a contented whisper, not a scream of pain.”
Sebastian leaned in, pretending to hear it all, though he only caught the wind and the rapid beat of his own heart.
Later they baked a honey cake in the narrow kitchen. The dough stuck, the oven sputtered too much, and the result was a crooked lump with cracks letting sweet steam escape. Sebastian looked at it with mock indignation.
“This is a crime against magical baking.”
Ominis let out a genuine laugh—the first in days—and ran a flour-dusted finger down Sebastian’s cheek.
At night they read by the fire. Sebastian lent his voice to the pages Ominis followed with his fingertips, tracing words like maps of familiar territory. Sometimes they paused just to breathe the same warm air, to feel how the silence between them was no longer tense but comfortable—like a blanket woven from years of trust.
Little by little, Ominis’s fear loosened. It didn’t disappear—the insecurities were like deep roots tangled in the soul’s soil—but they lost strength. Sebastian saw it in the small, precious details: how Ominis no longer pulled his hand away when Sebastian took it at the village market, how he began to speak of the future with fewer reservations.
And in how, one night while curled against Sebastian’s chest, he murmured into the darkness.
“When you’re ready…I want to hear the question.”
Sebastian smiled against his hair, heart beating like a hippogriff’s wings.
“Soon, love. Very soon.”
But Ominis still needed one final push—one that didn’t come from Sebastian, but from someone who had known him since the days of green-trimmed robes and shared secrets.
…
Two days later, Garreth Weasley burst in unannounced, as always.
“My two favorites!” he boomed from the door. “I came to inject a bit of controlled chaos into this perfect postcard house.”
Sebastian enveloped him in a bear hug, genuinely relieved. Ominis, who had been in the garden collecting moon lavender for calming tea, returned at the sound of that unmistakable voice, a wide, sincere smile on his face.
They settled in the living room with steaming tea. Garreth, true to his no-filter style, went straight to the point (a sign he was in a good mood).
“Ominis, I know you overheard the conversation the other day. And I know you’ve been running away like a niffler from Gringotts. But let me tell you something: Sebastian isn’t perfect. He’s a walking disaster. Burns dinner, loses his magic keys every other day, and once tried to charm a broom to waltz and ended up with a hole in the ceiling. If he can love you with all your ‘imperfections,’ trust me, you can love him with his. And marriage isn’t about being perfect together—it’s about choosing to keep trying, even when it goes wrong.”
Ominis listened in silence, feeling Garreth’s words like a balm. Garreth continued, more serious.
“Back at Hogwarts, you were the one who kept Sebastian’s feet on the ground. He needed you then…and he needs you now. Not as a shiny trophy, but as his equal. As his home. So stop running, Gaunt. Because he’s not going anywhere, even if the world falls apart.”
Ominis felt tears return, but this time they were of relief. He extended his hand and Garreth took it without hesitation.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“You’re welcome. Now, are you two going to tell me when the big question is happening, or will I have to guess and ruin the surprise?”
Sebastian burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room. “Soon, Weasley. Very soon.”
…
That night, after Garreth left promising to return with “more chaos and maybe a decent cake,” Ominis approached Sebastian in the living room. The fire burned low, casting shadows that danced like old and new memories intertwined.
“Sebastian,” he said softly but firmly for the first time in a long while.
Sebastian looked up from the book he was pretending to read, pulse racing. “Yes?”
“I think I’m ready.”
Sebastian set the book aside carefully, as if afraid to break the moment. “Are you sure?”
Ominis nodded, a shy smile curving his lips. “Yes, but I don’t want a big spectacle. Just…us here at home.”
Sebastian stood with the slowness of someone crossing an irreversible threshold. From the inner pocket of his worn vest—the one that had seen so many shared adventures—he pulled out the ring: a moonstone set in ancient silver, a fragment of night sky captured in circular form. It glowed softly, as if holding the echo of stars that had witnessed the birth and death of promises.
He knelt before Ominis—not with theatrical drama, but with the reverence of a guardian before his favorite constellation. He took Ominis’s left hand in both of his—two warm palms that had held trembling wands, forbidden books, silent tears, and stolen laughter. He held it as if it were the last petal of a moonflower that blooms only once every century: fragile, eternal, irreplaceable.
“Ominis Gaunt,” Sebastian began, “from the day your blind eyes truly saw me, I’ve carried your name engraved in my chest. I have loved you when light wrapped us like a summer cloak, and when darkness covered us like an enchanted lead cape, so heavy we could barely breathe.”
He paused, pulse throbbing in his throat like a contained spell. “I have seen you stand like an oak when I was only storm-broken branches. I have seen you bend, vulnerable as an autumn leaf in the wind, when I needed to become the trunk that held you. I don’t offer you a cloudless sky, my love, because not even the most powerful wizard can tame the storms life brings…but I do offer you this, with everything I am.
I promise to love you in every season of your soul. On nights when your fears whisper like restless mandrakes, I promise to stay and sing them to sleep. On days when doubts cloud your eyes, I promise to be the compass that guides you back to shore. In moments when your laughter bursts like fireworks, lighting up entire rooms, I promise to be the echo that carries it farther. And when tears fall, I promise to gather them like dew drops and turn them into stars so you’re never alone in the dark.
I promise to choose you every dawn, when the sun wakes the forest and our wands still sleep on the bedside table. I promise to choose you when we’re old, skin etched like maps of lived adventures, hands trembling but intertwined, and the silence between us sweet as the last sip of butterbeer. I promise to choose you beyond this world, where souls meet like constellations that align only once in millennia.”
Sebastian slid the ring slowly onto Ominis’s finger. The moonstone caught the firelight and seemed to breathe—a soft pulse, cool to the touch but warm in its promise, as if the moon herself had descended to seal their union. It fit perfectly, as if the metal had been waiting for that skin for all eternity.
“Will you marry me, Ominis?” he asked, voice breaking at the end—not from fear, but from a happiness so vast it barely fit into words.
Ominis felt the metal settle perfectly, a complete circle closing years of doubts and shadows. Tears welled up then—silent at first, but luminous, like drops of liquid silver capturing the fireplace glow and returning it multiplied. They weren’t tears of sadness; they were tears of pure relief, of a heart finally allowing itself to breathe whole.
His hand squeezed Sebastian’s with quiet strength.
“Yes,” he whispered, the word soft but laden with certainty. “Yes, Sebastian. A thousand times yes…and all the ones that come after.”
Sebastian let out a trembling breath—half laugh, half sob of joy. He jumped to his feet, eyes shining, and without thinking twice—because Sebastian never thought twice when it came to Ominis—he took Ominis by the waist and lifted him in his arms with that playful ease born only of absolute trust.
Ominis let out a surprised, genuine laugh—that rare, precious laugh Sebastian treasured like a secret—and wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck as they spun slowly in the middle of the living room, as if the entire world had shrunk to that small circle of wood and fire.
Sebastian held him high for one more second, looking at him as if for the first time, then lowered him carefully—but without fully letting go. He pulled him against his chest and kissed him: a deep, hungry kiss full of everything they had been through—the silly fights that dissolved like passing clouds, the passionate reconciliations that burned like eternal fires, the sleepless nights turned into shared dawns, the mornings of laughter that sprang like fountains of youth. A kiss that tasted of fulfilled promises and future, sweet as forest honey and eternal as the roots of willows.
“I love you,” Sebastian murmured against his lips, voice hoarse with emotion.
“And I love you,” Ominis replied, brushing his nose against Sebastian’s, smiling with still-wet eyes. “Forever.”
Sebastian kissed him again—this time shorter, more playful—planting quick kisses on his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, his forehead, as if wanting to seal every inch of his face with promises. Ominis laughed softly, hands tangled in Sebastian’s messy hair, and for a moment the cottage seemed brighter, as if the fireplace had decided to burn with silver flames just for them.
…
Late spring sunlight filtered through the ancient weeping willows surrounding the enchanted clearing, breaking into golden motes that drifted slowly over the soft moss-covered ground and fallen petals, as if the forest itself had decided to pause time to bear witness. There were no stone walls or enchanted ceilings—only the open sky, the whisper of wind through leaves, and the living magic of nature that had sheltered them from the beginning: an eternal embrace of roots and branches murmuring promises of peace.
Six months had passed since that night when Sebastian knelt and Ominis said “yes” with a voice cracked by fear and hope. Six months of stolen dawns from the darkness, conversations lasting until the first bird sang, laughter exploding when yet another dinner turned to charcoal, nights when Ominis woke sweating cold and Sebastian wrapped him in silence, breathing for both until the terror dissolved like morning mist. The moonstone ring had lived on his finger like a constant beacon—cold at first, like the moon herself, but always warming with the touch of his skin, a subtle reminder that love, like moonlight, illuminates even in the deepest gloom.
They hadn’t invited crowds. Only those who had walked with them through the darkest and brightest paths—only those who truly mattered. Souls who had witnessed their storms and rebirths, silent guardians of their shared story.
Sebastian waited beneath a natural arch of glowing flowers that Ominis had cultivated for years: moon lavender, white roses, and silver ivy intertwined with living branches, as if the forest had woven its own blessing—an ethereal veil trembling in the breeze like enchanted butterfly wings. His black robe, accented with dark green details recalling the forests they loved exploring together—whispering leaves and hidden paths—contrasted with the clearing’s light, making him look like a silhouette carved from the essence of mysterious night. His hair was neater than usual (thanks to Anne, who had threatened him with a hair charm if he didn’t comb it), and his brown eyes shone with emotion he didn’t try to hide. He could feel it all: the accelerated pulse of the wind, the sweet scent of flowers floating like a perfume of memories, the soft crunch of gravel under the enchanted wooden seats. But above all, he waited with his heart in suspense, beating like a war drum turning into a victory song.
And then Ominis appeared at the end of the floating-petal aisle that Poppy had enchanted to fall slowly like gentle snow. His ivory-white robe was embroidered with subtle threads tracing constellations—the very ones Sebastian described on sleepless nights, word for word until Ominis could “see” them in his mind like celestial maps etched in the soul. His blond hair glowed under the filtered light, sunrays caressing each golden strand like loving fingers of light, painting ethereal halos that made him seem a being stepped out from a dream. His hands trembled slightly as he held the bouquet of lavender and roses he had gathered at dawn. He could hear it all: the brush of wind through leaves like a whisper of approval, the frantic beat of his own heart echoing the living forest. And above all, Sebastian’s presence at the end of the path—an invisible beacon guiding him, steady and calm, as if each of Ominis’s steps were a caress to time itself, a thread binding their destinies with infinite delicacy.
When Sebastian saw him approach, his heart swelled, threatening to burst from his chest and fly to him. It was as if the entire world had shrunk to that white figure walking with serene grace—each step a shared heartbeat, each invisible gaze a bond tightening stronger. Ominis moved with the elegance of a river finding its sea, his fears dissipated like fallen leaves in the current, and Sebastian couldn’t look away, enchanted by the beauty of the one who had chosen to love him in his most broken and luminous versions.
When Ominis reached Sebastian, the latter took his hands without hesitation. They were warm, steady, and Ominis felt the last knot of fear in his chest unravel completely, like petals releasing in a liberating breeze.
“You’re trembling,” Sebastian whispered, smiling with the tenderness he reserved only for him—a smile that felt like sun on melting snow.
“So are you,” Ominis replied, and both laughed softly—a sound that made Garreth, standing to the side, discreetly wipe a tear with his sleeve, as if the moment were too pure not to move even the most playful heart.
Garreth cleared his throat, raising his hands as if conducting an invisible orchestra, conjuring the magic of the instant.
“Dear friends and family,” he began in his theatrical but genuine voice, like a spell wrapping everything in warmth—“We are here today not to witness a grand spectacle, but something far rarer and more valuable: two people who, after everything life has thrown at them—storms roaring like enraged dragons, shadows lurking like forgotten ghosts—have chosen to keep choosing each other. Every day. Without conditions. Without expecting perfection. Embracing the cracks as part of the beauty.”
He paused, looking at both with evident affection, his eyes reflecting the clearing’s light like mirrors of loyalty.
“Sebastian Sallow, do you promise to love Ominis Gaunt on sunny days that shine like golden promises and in storms that lash like relentless winds? When the world is kind as a caress and when it decides to be cruel as a curse? Do you promise to describe the sky to him even when words fail you, to walk at his pace even when impatience pricks like a thorn, and to hold him on nights when shadows return like old acquaintances?”
Sebastian didn’t look away from Ominis for a second, his eyes anchored like fixed stars in the firmament.
“I promise all of that,” he said with a firm but deeply emotional voice, like a river flowing deep and constant. “And more. I promise to listen when he needs to speak of his fears, and to remind him every day that he is the bravest person I know. I promise to be his home, as he has been mine from the very first day.”
Ominis felt tears gathering again, but this time he didn’t try to hold them back—they fell like morning dew, pure and freeing.
Garreth turned to him, voice softer.
“Ominis Gaunt, do you promise to love Sebastian Sallow with all your quiet strength? To accept his wild adventures even when they scare you like unknown abysses, to forgive him when he burns yet another pot, and to let him see you vulnerable without feeling it makes you less—but more whole?”
Ominis swallowed, squeezing Sebastian’s hands as if they were roots anchoring him to the earth.
“Yes, I promise,” he said, voice clear though trembling. “I promise to choose him even when I doubt myself, to let him care for me when I need it, and to care for him when he needs it. I promise my shadows will not be a burden, but part of what we are together. Because with him…I’m not afraid of being myself. I feel complete.”
A gentle silence fell over the clearing, a veil of peace enveloping everything like magical mist.
Garreth smiled, eyes bright.
“Then, by the power vested in me as the world’s nosiest best friend…I now pronounce you husbands. You may kiss.”
Sebastian didn’t wait another second. He took Ominis’s face in both hands—with the delicacy he always used when he wanted him to feel every detail, as if touching a fragile and eternal treasure—and kissed him. It was a slow, deep kiss full of everything they had been through: silly fights that dissolved like passing clouds, passionate reconciliations that burned like eternal fires, sleepless nights turned into shared dawns, mornings of laughter springing like fountains of youth. A kiss that tasted of fulfilled promises and future—sweet as forest honey and eternal as willow roots.
When they parted, the applause was warm. Anne sobbed openly, clinging to Poppy. Garreth threw handfuls of enchanted petals that floated around them, glowing with their own light like fallen stars. And Ominis, with the moonstone ring now joined by a thin white-gold band Sebastian had slipped onto his finger during the kiss, rested his forehead against his husband’s, feeling their breaths entwine like threads of fate.
“Husband,” Sebastian whispered, tasting the word as if it were the sweetest in the world—an elixir intoxicating the soul.
“Husband,” Ominis repeated, smiling in that shy, radiant way Sebastian adored—a smile that lit the clearing like an inner sun.
The celebration was simple but unforgettable: long tables under the willows with homemade food—the honey cake they had practiced so many times, perfect this time as if the day’s magic had blessed it—, soft music from an enchanted violin playing Hogwarts melodies like echoes of revived youth, and conversations that lasted until stars appeared in the sky, weaving new constellations above their heads.
Later, when the guests began to leave and the clearing belonged only to them, Sebastian took Ominis’s hand and led him to the bench beneath the weeping willow—the same one where they had talked until dawn so many times, carved by time into a throne for their confidences.
They sat. Sebastian wrapped an arm around Ominis’s shoulders, and Ominis rested his head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—a rhythm that was now the symphony of their shared life.
“Happy?” Sebastian asked quietly, kissing his temple with the tenderness of someone kissing a newly opened flower.
Ominis raised his left hand, feeling the two rings—the moonstone and the white gold—warm against his skin like solidified promises in metal.
“More than words can express,” he replied, his voice a whisper blending with the wind. “Thank you for waiting and for not giving up when I ran.”
Sebastian kissed his temple again, inhaling the lingering scent of lavender in his hair.
“I would never give up on you. You’re my home, Ominis. You always have been—a sanctuary where my soul finds peace.”
They remained like that for a long time, wrapped in the enchanted forest’s silence. The wind whispered through the leaves like a lullaby.
And there, under the stars that Sebastian described softly—“There’s one especially bright tonight, right above us, as if it’s blessing us”—Ominis felt, for the first time in his life, that darkness wasn’t something to flee from. It was only the perfect canvas for their love to shine brighter—a living constellation they had traced themselves with every glance, every touch, every promise.