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Ominis might have been blind, but he wasn’t oblivious.
If anything, the lack of distraction made people’s tells even more apparent to him. He could hear the quickened breath, the catch in a voice, the faint shift of weight against stone floors or library chairs. He was a Gaunt, raised among vipers who never said what they meant, and he’d learned early to recognize subtleties sharper than any curse.
Which was precisely why it was rather amusing, how Sebastian thought he was hiding his little crush.
It had started slowly, with small irregularities in their usual rhythm. Sebastian’s sentences, so often quick and certain, had begun to trip and stumble when Ominis loosened the collar of his uniform robes after class. A single button undone and suddenly Sebastian’s voice cracked like he was a third-year again. If Ominis brushed Sebastian’s arm while reaching for his quill in the Undercroft, he could hear the boy choke down a cough or shuffle his chair as if the contact burned.
And then there were the slips of unnecessary attention: Sebastian offering him tea refills he hadn’t asked for, adjusting the angle of Ominis’ parchment before he’d even reached for it, or the protective hand at the small of Ominis' back when crowds became too loud or messy. Little overcompensations, as though Sebastian thought he could disguise his feelings by being too helpful. Ominis heard the nervous edge in it every time, and it only confirmed what he already knew.
It was ridiculous. Transparent. And irritatingly endearing.
The worst part was Sebastian’s stubborn refusal to admit any of it. Ominis could tell the truth of the matter sat at the back of his throat like a swallowed hex, yet Sebastian would rather bite his own tongue than confess. He teased endlessly, bantered shamelessly, and then flinched like a startled owl at the slightest brush of Ominis’ hand.
Coward.
If Ominis hadn’t been quite so… invested, he might have let it lie. But Sebastian’s refusal to act grated on him more with every passing day. And Ominis, ever the tactician, decided it was time to push. If Sebastian couldn’t be honest with words, perhaps a little … good old jealousy might drag him out of hiding.
Isaac Cooper would do nicely.
Ominis knew of him only in broad strokes: a Ravenclaw, one year older, Quidditch obsessed to the point of tedium. He was supposed to be handsome, if the whispers were true, though Ominis could hardly care. What mattered was that Cooper’s reputation made him the perfect piece on the board.
So Ominis made a plan, and set the plan into motion. One afternoon, he lingered outside the Potion classroom, where Sebastian and Garreth were in detention for having blown up not one, not two, but three cauldrons in one lesson. Positioning himself casually against the wall, he listened. And waited. Sebastian would be out soon. All Ominis needed was to be seen — or rather, overheard — conversing far too comfortably with someone else.
Like clockwork, Isaac Cooper came sweeping past, undoubtedly coming back from another Quidditch practice. The faint creak of leather boots and the distinctive jingle of a broom-handle charm pouch announced Cooper before he even spoke.
“Gaunt? Bit out of your usual haunt, aren’t you?” Isaac’s voice was light and cheerful.
Perfect.
Ominis leaned back against the cool stone wall, arranging himself in a casual slouch. He tilted his head just enough, letting his hair fall forward so his posture gave off that practiced air of interest. He didn’t need to see to know it would look deliberate.
“I could say the same,” Ominis replied smoothly. “Heading back from practice?”
There was a laugh, good-natured. “Always. I swear the pitch might as well be my second dormitory.”
Exactly the opening he wanted. Ominis shifted closer, not enough to touch but close enough that his voice dropped a fraction lower, coaxing intimacy. “Tell me, then … what do you make of the new Gryffindor beater pair? I hear they’ve been giving your chasers trouble.”
The response was immediate, a flood of enthusiasm. “Ah, don’t get me started. One of them, Carmichael, he’s got a swing like a Bludger itself. Nearly knocked Branstone clean off her broom last match. Brilliant strength, but sloppy footwork. If it were me—”
Cooper rattled on, painting the air with his hands if the rustle of sleeves was any indication. His voice swelled with energy, bouncing between strategies and player comparisons Ominis couldn’t care less about. None of it mattered. What mattered was the timing: the scrape of a dungeon door not far down the corridor, the creak of hinges followed by footsteps Ominis knew like his own heartbeat.
Sebastian.
Ominis suppressed a smile, angling his head just so, giving every impression of a boy enraptured by Cooper’s chatter.
The plan was in motion.
He heard Sebastian bid goodbye to Garreth, patting him on the back with a "next time, we'll blow up four cauldrons." Garreth laughed at that. and then retreated in the other direction. Even better: Sebastian would be alone.
The scrape of boots on stone grew louder.
Ominis leaned in even more, careful but deliberate. Close enough that Cooper’s warm breath tickled against his cheek when he answered.
“I imagine you put up quite a fight on the field, hmm?” Ominis murmured, his voice pitched just low enough so Sebastian would hear it even from distance.
The footsteps slowed.
Cooper chuckled, oblivious. “Too right I do. You should see me knock Bludgers — absolute menace. I could, er … well, I could take you to a game if you’d like? Or even a practice?”
“Mm,” Ominis said, smiling faintly, head tilted in a calculated imitation of interest. “That sounds like a fun idea.”
The footsteps stopped entirely. Ominis smirked to himself. Sebastian thought he was being subtle, but Ominis could hear him hovering, listening.
“When is the next match, then?” he asked, turning his attention back to Cooper. “Or perhaps I ought to see a practice first? I hear you practice often… nearly every day, isn’t it? You must work awfully hard.”
Cooper puffed up with unmistakable pride; Ominis could hear it in the breath he drew before answering. “Yeah, it’s hard work, no doubt, but I live for it. I can absolutely bring you sometime. Though — I mean, not to sound rude, but how would you, you know… see it?”
Ominis let a touch of warmth enter his smile. He lifted his hand, tugging lightly at the front of his collar, letting the fabric part just enough to draw in a breath of cooler air. His fingers brushed skin. He knew the gesture looked casual, effortless, and just suggestive enough.
“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly. “I have other ways of… seeing.”
The effect was immediate.
Five sharp steps, each echoing louder than the last, and then Sebastian was wedged between him and Cooper, shielding Ominis with his broad frame. The heat of Sebastian’s body hit like a wall that cut the air clean in two.
“Well, that’s quite enough, I think,” Sebastian bit out, voice low and tight. “Ominis, aren’t you heading back to the dormitories now?”
Ominis cocked his head, feigning innocence. “What? But Isaac and I were having such an… intriguing conversation.”
Sebastian’s growl was almost comical. “I said we’re going. To. The dormitories. Now.”
A ripple of silence passed. Cooper shuffled, clearing his throat awkwardly. Ominis smirked inwardly, pressing his back against the wall as if reluctant to move. His plan had worked better than he’d dared hope.
“Well, it was lovely chatting with you, Cooper,” he sighed, as if the prospect of ending their conversation genuinely disappointed him. “We’ll be in touch, I imagine.”
“Right, well… I’ll see you around, Gaunt,” Cooper said, his voice tinged with confusion as he shifted his broom over one shoulder. “Pleasure, I guess.”
“Likewise,” Ominis replied smoothly. He dipped his head in a polite farewell, masking the curl of satisfaction that wanted to spread across his lips. Poor boy; he hadn’t even realized he’d been moved across the chessboard like a pawn.
But pawns had their uses.
Sebastian’s presence bristled beside him, stiff and seething, as they made their way toward the Slytherin dormitories. He said nothing, which was remarkable in itself. Sebastian always had something to say: a quip, a barb, a retort. Now there was only silence, punctuated by the glimmer of Ominis’ wand on the flagstones and the furious clip of Sebastian’s steps.
Ominis could practically hear the grind of teeth, the shallow, heated pull of breath through Sebastian’s nose. Every muscle in the boy must have been coiled, strung tight with jealousy. Ominis let it wash over him like the warmth of the common room fire. He smiled serenely, posture calm, as though nothing were amiss.
When they entered the dormitory, Sebastian stalked wordlessly toward his bed. The thump of a satchel tossed onto the blankets echoed sharp against the stone. Ominis trailed behind, deliberate and unhurried, until he reached his own trunk. He crouched, fingers slipping over the latches, pretending to rummage through folded robes.
Then he struck.
“What is appropriate to wear for a Quidditch match?” he asked casually, voice light. “I don’t want to freeze while I’m up in the stands.”
The silence that followed was thick, strained, brittle as glass. Ominis didn’t bother hiding the faint upturn of his mouth as he fingered through neatly folded socks.
“You can go with me instead.” Sebastian’s words were gritted out between his teeth, every syllable taut with control. “You don’t need to go with Cooper.”
Ah. There it was.
Ominis nearly laughed, but he composed himself, slipping on a mask of gentle confusion. He tilted his head, letting the pause stretch just long enough to sharpen the edge of Sebastian’s fraying temper. “But he invited me. And he seems quite nice, don’t you think? Isn’t there a Quidditch game next Saturday? Maybe he could take me then…”
The reaction was instant. A rush of footsteps across the rug, then a hand fisting tight in the back of Ominis’ shirt. In one swift tug, Sebastian hauled him upright, spinning him so his back pressed against one of the carved posters of his bed. The wood rattled faintly at the force.
Finally.
Sebastian’s breath came hot, ragged, and close. “You’re not going with him.”
Ominis’ heart kicked, triumphant, even as he forced his voice into airy calm. “Oh? And why ever not?”
Sebastian’s answer was a growl, low in his throat, more animal than articulate. “Because you’re mine.”
Ominis’ smirk bloomed at last, wide and self-satisfied. Plan successful.
“Am I?” he asked coyly, pouting a little with his lips. “But you have never said anything. How was I supposed to know I couldn’t date other people?”
The phrase date other people was a dangerous one, and it worked perfectly.
Sebastian’s breath was hot against his cheek, his grip unrelenting at the back of Ominis’ shirt.
“You’re mine,” he hissed. “Do you understand? I don’t ever want to hear you talking to Cooper like that again. Not him, not anyone.” His voice cracked, trembling with fury and something deeper, rawer. “You’re mine.”
Ominis didn’t get a chance to reply. Sebastian’s mouth crashed against his, desperate and unpracticed and claiming all at once. Ominis gasped into it, caught off guard, but the hand at his waist yanked him closer, pinning him to the carved bedpost, and there was no mistaking the sheer possession in the kiss.
Sebastian kissed like he fought; reckless, relentless, pouring everything into it. His other hand slid to the back of Ominis’ head, threading through his hair, holding him in place. Ominis let himself be dragged under, grinning against the frantic press of lips, indulging in the sharp edges of Sebastian’s hunger. He tasted the salt of frustration, the sweetness of surrender, the heat of a boy who’d finally snapped.
Ominis let him lead, pliant beneath the storm, smiling into each bruising kiss. Sebastian growled softly when Ominis dared to smirk mid-kiss, clutching him tighter around the waist, as though he could fuse them together by force alone.
By the time they broke apart, both breathless, Ominis’ chest rose and fell against Sebastian’s in perfect rhythm. He didn’t have time to speak before Sebastian manhandled him onto the bed behind him, claiming another possessive, almost angry kiss.
Ominis thought his plan couldn’t have worked more beautifully.
A few minutes later, lips swollen and chests rising and falling rapidly, Sebastian curled protectively around him, hand still splayed over his ribs like he feared Ominis might vanish. Ominis cuddled closer, drawing in the scent of Sebastian, basking in the success of his plan.
For a few moments, it was silent in the dorm, a comfortable stillness as they caught their breaths.
Then Ominis yawned, stretching lazily against the warmth. “I knew it would work,” he mumbled, satisfied.
Sebastian stiffened instantly. “…What do you mean, work?”
Ominis smiled, innocent as a serpent in the grass. “My plan. To make you jealous. Isaac Cooper was just a pawn, you see. And it worked.”
For a beat, there was only the sound of Sebastian’s jaw grinding, the sharp clench of teeth. Ominis tilted his head, wondering if he’d pushed too far.
Then Sebastian gave a reluctant, low whistle. Half disbelieving, half admiring. “You’re cunning, Gaunt.”
Ominis smirked, burrowing closer into his warmth. “Well,” he said, preening a little. “I am a Slytherin, after all.”