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Chapter Text

The first of September always carried a peculiar weight. For most of Hogwarts, it was the start of another year: new timetables to groan over, new professors to outwit, another round of Quidditch rivalries or House Cup ambitions.

For Ominis Gaunt, it meant something else entirely.

It meant returning home. To stone corridors that now held familiarity. To his friends. To his best friends.

To Lyra.

He sat rigid-backed at the Slytherin table, wand balanced neatly across his knee, head tilted toward the rush of noise that swelled through the Great Hall. The scrape of benches, the clatter of plates, the echo of voices. Each sound distinct, layered, alive. Somewhere to his right, Sebastian was entertaining a cluster of younger Slytherins eager to hear about his summer in Feldcroft.

Ominis listened with half an ear, hearing the familiar cadence of his friend's embellishments. Sebastian gilded everything he touched—always had—but now there was something brittle beneath the shine, a raw edge sharpened by what had come after Solomon. After Anne. After fifth year.

Ominis clenched his jaw and let the steady hum of the hall wash over him. Truthfully, he hadn't wanted to spend the summer in Feldcroft, not when every room echoed with Sebastian's ghosts. But even broken, Feldcroft was preferable to the Gaunt estate. That place was not a home. It was a curse.

"Merlin, I swear this summer was the longest one yet," Sebastian muttered as he dropped onto the bench beside him, shoulder brushing Ominis's in that careless, familiar way. His voice lowered, threaded with anticipation. "Do you think she's at the station yet?"

He didn't have to ask who.

Lyra.

The name hovered, unspoken but restless, tugging at both of them.

"Probably," Ominis replied dryly. "We always arrive before the train does."

The boys had never taken the Hogwarts Express with the others. Living in the valley meant Floo travel was easier. Still, the ritual was the same: sooner or later, the train would pull into Hogsmeade Station, and another tide of students would flood the castle.

Ominis heard her before he felt her.

Her laughter cut across the babble. Bright, clear, unmistakable. Sunlight breaking through clouds. Then came the brush of her hand against his sleeve as she pressed past, the warmth of her voice wrapping around his name.

"Ominis!"

The faint trace of lavender clung to her like a secret, as though she'd spent her summer not trapped in the dreary orphanage she despised, but wandering through blooming gardens. He allowed himself the smallest smile as she leaned down and hugged him. An intimacy he tolerated from no one else.

"Lyra," he murmured, tilting toward her voice. "You survived another summer."

"Barely." Her tone was light, teasing, but he heard the crack beneath it. The orphanage had stolen three months from her again. And yet she stood here, brimming with life.

Before he could answer, Sebastian was already on his feet, sweeping her into his arms. He spun her once, laughing as he set her down on the bench between them.

"Barely?" Sebastian echoed in mock outrage. "You look better than either of us after a summer in Feldcroft."

"I do, don't I?" she said smugly. "Must be the orphanage gruel. Works wonders on the skin."

Sebastian's laughter rang loud and warm. "If that's the secret, then Ominis and I clearly need more of it."

"Absolutely not," Ominis drawled. "Your cooking is already insufferable enough."

Lyra leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his arm as she dropped her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "Poor Ominis. Forced to endure an entire summer of Sebastian's dreadful meals."

"Excuse me?" Sebastian gasped in exaggerated offense.

"They were dreadful," Ominis confirmed evenly.

Lyra giggled. "Well, dreadful food or not, you both seem to be in good shape. You look well, Ominis."

The words landed heavier than she no doubt meant them to, a stone in his chest. He kept his face composed, fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood of his wand.

"Kind of you to say," he murmured.

"Don't believe her," Sebastian cut in. "She says that to everyone. Last year she told Imelda her hair was shiny and beautiful after flying in the rain. It looked like a rabid Kneazle's tail."

Lyra smacked his arm. "It was shiny from the rain!" She turned back toward Ominis, voice softer. "Don't listen to him. I only say it when I mean it."

The air shifted, taut as a bowstring. Ominis forced a small smile, though his jaw tightened.

Sebastian, quick and oblivious, launched into another story. "You should've seen him trying to avoid my cooking. He practically lived on bread, just to escape my stew."

Lyra gasped in delight. "So you admit it was dreadful!"

"Well, I'm sure it was more tolerable than your sense of humor," Sebastian countered, a faint thread of amusement betraying his mock seriousness.

Her laughter rang again—bright as bells—and Sebastian's joined in, easy and unguarded.

The rest of the feast unfolded as it always did: the Sorting Hat's pompous song about unity, the Headmaster's speech reverberating across stone walls, the clatter of plates filling with roasted meats, warm bread, and buttered vegetables. Ominis sat beside them, listening as their chatter arched back and forth above him like a current he was caught inside.

When Lyra leaned across him to reach for a dish, her hair brushed his shoulder. He stilled. They had studied together for over a year, shared secrets, laughter, arguments. Yet suddenly, her nearness was something different. An awareness that burned.

She laughed again at something Sebastian said, her voice golden, alive. Ominis found himself listening not to her words, but to the sound of her joy, the way it wrapped itself around him.

It struck him, sharp and unwelcome, that this year would not be simple.

For the first time, he saw her not just as their friend, not only as the girl who had dragged them out of darkness, but as something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something he could not afford.

And across the table, Sebastian's laughter was a touch too loud, his words too quick.

Ominis recognized it instantly.

Sebastian felt it too.

Something had changed.

And Ominis Gaunt—careful, reasoned, always in control—had no idea how to stop it.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall had always been a theater of noise. Cutlery clattering, laughter vaulting off stone walls, the flutter of owls sweeping overhead. But tonight it all seemed muted, as if Sebastian were listening through glass. He sat with Ominis and Lyra at the Slytherin table, a goblet of pumpkin juice clutched in his hand and a smile he wasn't sure he meant to fix to his lips.

It wasn't the Hall that held him. It was her.

Lyra.

She had always been pretty. He'd admitted that much to himself last year when she'd first swept into Hogwarts, a wide-eyed fifth-year with a knack for finding trouble. Back then he'd shoved the thought aside. He had Anne to worry about, Solomon's disapproval to shoulder, an entire curse to unravel. Lyra was his friend, nothing more. A friend who laughed too brightly, matched his recklessness stride for stride, and somehow turned even his darkest days tolerable.

But tonight—Merlin—she seemed different. The candlelight polished her dark hair into a glassy waterfall. Her same dark eyes, almost black, glimmered as she teased Ominis about his posture. Her smile carved something sharp and unsettling in his chest.

She wasn't just the pretty orphan girl who had stumbled into his life anymore. She was a young woman now. Sleek, pale, luminous in the glow of floating candles. Half the boys at the table tripped over their words when she brushed past, and Sebastian, to his horror, felt the same hitch in his throat.

He tore his gaze away, jaw tightening. He wasn't going to do this. He wasn't going to look at her like that. Beside him, Ominis sat with his usual impeccable stillness, though his head angled subtly toward her as if he too had noticed the change.

Of course he had. Ominis noticed everything.

Sebastian forced a smirk, knocking back another sip of pumpkin juice, grounding himself.

"Alright," Lyra said suddenly, cutting through whatever nonsense Imelda had been yammering about. She turned back to Sebastian and Ominis, lips curved in a grin that was equal parts soft and mischief. "Besides Sebastian's dreadful cooking, how was the rest of your summer in Feldcroft?"

The words were innocent. Teasing. They landed like a stone to the ribs.

Feldcroft wasn't a summer. It was a sentence. The hollow quiet of Solomon's absence, the echo of Anne's empty chair, Ominis's stiff silence pressing in on every corner until it choked him. Truthfully, the house wasn't a home anymore; it was a graveyard.

Sebastian set his goblet down too sharply. Metal clanged against wood. "It was . . . fine," he clipped.

"Fine?" Lyra tilted her head, skepticism warming her eyes.

"That doesn't sound like you," Natsai said as she drifted over, frowning.

Lyra's face brightened. "Natty! Oh, how have you been?"

Natsai folded her into a hug. "I've missed you, friend."

Sebastian muttered a rough, "Hi, Natty," and tried not to squirm under the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes.

Natsai slid onto the bench beside them, arm still draped across Lyra. "Hello, Sebastian. And I've been good. But truly, Sebastian. What about you? You usually can't shut up about all your countryside adventures."

His pulse quickened. He wanted to laugh, to spin a tale about sunshine and ruins, to make them stop looking at him like that. But the words jammed in his throat. Feldcroft wasn't sunshine anymore. It was hunger gnawing at the cupboards, grief echoing in the walls.

He smirked again, brittle as glass. "Guess I've run out of stories."

Lyra's smile faltered. She opened her mouth, concern softening her features, but Ominis leaned in smoothly. Always the rescuer. "You'll have to forgive him. He burned so many meals this summer he's still in mourning."

Laughter rippled around the table. Lyra, though clearly unconvinced, let it drop.

Still, the taste of ashes lingered in Sebastian's mouth long after the feast was dismissed.

The corridors spilled with students headed toward their common rooms, chatter and footsteps bouncing off the stone. Lyra fell into step beside Sebastian, her brow still furrowed.

"You were awfully quiet after I mentioned Feldcroft," she said gently. "Did something—"

"Lyra," Ominis interrupted, materializing at her other side with Imelda in tow. "Please tell me you're scolding him already. Someone has to keep him in check."

Lyra huffed a laugh, throwing Sebastian a look that said this isn't over. But before she could press, Imelda seized his sleeve.

"Come on, Sallow," she said, dragging him toward the courtyard. "There's a bonfire down by the lake. Proper welcome-back party. Don't tell me you're going to sulk in the common room like a good little student."

Sebastian arched a brow. "Since when have I ever been a good little student?"

He turned to Lyra. "You coming too?"

"I should probably find Poppy first," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Haven't seen her yet."

"Right," he nodded. "See you later?"

"Maybe," she laughed softly, and that single sound undid him all over again.

-----

The Black Lake shimmered under the moon, bonfire flames clawing at the sky. Students clustered in groups, laughter and music weaving across the water. Someone had smuggled firewhisky, and Sebastian, never one to turn down a drink, had a glass in hand before he'd even found the grass.

By his third—fourth?—drink, the world blurred pleasantly. He made his rounds, greeted classmates, forced smiles. It should have been easy, fun. But with every sip, every glance at the crowd to see if Lyra had come, guilt and want twisted tighter inside him until he though he might split apart.

Anne should have been there, too. Not cursed and ashamed of her own brother. Instead he was alone, and all he could think about was Lyra's laughter spilling too easily for Ominis at the feast.

He wanted to find her, to stand close enough that her perfume drowned out the smoke, to say something clever enough to win her smile. But Nellie Oggspire dropped onto the grass beside him with a smirk.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mister Sallow," she drawled. "Still as cocky as ever?"

"You're just bitter you lost to me in Crossed Wands," he shot back.

"Oh, I could still take you."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Only if you want it to be."

That made him glance over at her.

The banter was easy. Too easy. And when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, butterbeer sweet on her tongue, he didn't stop her. He let her kiss him. Let his hands knot in her hair. Let himself drown, just for a moment, in something that wasn't grief or guilt or Lyra.

It was a mistake.

Because when he opened his eyes, Lyra stood just beyond the firelight. Frozen. Poppy at her side.

His stomach plummeted. He pulled away too late.

"Shit."

"What?" Nellie blinked around. "Something wrong?"

"I . . . uh . . . "

But Lyra was already walking off, hands twisting, smile plastered too bright, Poppy hurrying after her. Pretending she wasn't affected. And perhaps she wasn't. She was certainly trying her best to appear that way. They were just friends. Why would it matter who he kissed?

But she was. Sebastian knew it. Because if she'd kissed someone else—if she'd kissed another boy—he'd have torn the world apart.

He staggered to his feet, chasing after her. Nellie's voice trailed off behind him. Lyra and Poppy were talking—no, Lyra was upset, Poppy rubbing her arm, trying to soothe. Then Imelda appeared, and Sebastian stopped in his tracks.

Poppy leaned in, whispering something sharp into Imelda's ear. They both turned to look at him.

Yes. They were most certainly talking about him. About him kissing Nellie. About Lyra's face, obviously hurt.

Imelda's jaw dropped, her glare scorching. Lyra didn't even deign to look at him. She ran a hand through her hair, trying and failing to appear unbothered, before walking away. Alone.

Sebastian moved to follow, but Poppy intercepted.

"Sebastian, stop."

"I should talk to her."

"And say what?"

"I—I don't know."

Because he didn't know. It's not like they were anything more than friends. Yet the entire act felt wrong. And it seemed everyone else thought it was wrong as well.

Poppy's sigh was edged with sympathy. "Really, Sebastian? Snogging Nellie Oggspire in front of her?"

"I didn't think it'd—bloody hell." He dragged a hand through his hair.

"Look, I know you two are close. But she saw everything," Poppy pressed. "If you want to fix it, or change it, you'd better act before—"

Too late.

Garreth Weasley dropped onto the log beside Lyra, lopsided grin in place. And she let him stay. Poppy faltered as she followed his gaze.

Sebastian's hands curled into fists.

Poppy sighed once more. "Just let her be, Sebastian. Okay?"

But he couldn't. He could hardly peel his gaze away.

"Sebastian," Poppy murmured.

He finally ripped his eyes away, jaw tight as he nodded.

Poppy even went as far as placing a firm hand on his arm, steering him away from her. Though, he nearly broke his neck looking behind. He watched as Poppy went off to Ominis and Imelda. No doubt telling Ominis what happened.

Great. Just great.

Sebastian plopped back down onto the grass. Finishing what was left in his glass with one searing sip, his eyes locked on the sight across the fire.

He had a perfect view. Garreth's easy chatter, Lyra's frown softening into a smile. A smile for him. Not for Sebastian. He knew he was beyond drunk, knew the alcohol heated everything into a scorching fire. But then, in the span of a single, horrifying breath . . .

She kissed him.

The world tilted.

Sebastian surged to his feet, slamming his glass into the dirt. "Unbelievable."

"Sebastian," Ominis warned, appearing at his side.

But fury was already boiling over. He had to get out of here. He stormed through the firelight, shoving past a knot of Ravenclaws. One shoved back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sebastian snapped.

"You're the one storming about like a drunk idiot," the Ravenclaw spat.

The taunt landed like a curse. Red blurred his vision. His fist connected with the boy's jaw before he could think.

Chaos exploded. Students shrieked, drinks spilled, Ominis's voice cut sharp through the fray. Somewhere in his peripheral, Garreth pulled away from Lyra, eyes wide. Fists flew until—

"Enough!"

Professor Sharp's voice carved the night.

Strong hands seized Sebastian, wrenching him back. Blood stung his mouth. Across the chaos, Lyra's face burned into him. Pale, furious, betrayed.

He had wanted to bury his mistakes. Instead, he had made another.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the castle felt endless. Smoke from the bonfire clung to the night air, thick and acrid, as though determined to follow them all the way into the dungeons. Sebastian stumbled a bit, his shoulder brushing Ominis's, and neither of them spoke as they trudged uphill with the rest of the sheepish crowd Sharp had just dispersed. The silence between them wasn't comfortable. It was loud. The only sounds were the croak of frogs by the lake and the ragged pull of Sebastian's breathing.

Ominis tightened his grip on his wand, the faint warmth of its pulse guiding him along the incline. The crunch of gravel, the sharp edges of stone, the stray clumps of grass. He didn't need sight to know Sebastian was sulking beside him. Sulking was practically Sebastian's second language.

"You've made quite the fool of yourself tonight," Ominis said at last, his voice cool.

Sebastian gave a humorless snort. "Thank you, Ominis. I hadn't noticed."

"Hadn't noticed?" Ominis's lips curved into a thin smile. "You only managed to kiss Nellie Oggspire, start a drunken fight, and nearly get yourself expelled in the space of half an hour. Quite the impressive feat. Going for the record of fastest implosion at a school event?"

Sebastian groaned. "Must you always—"

"Yes," Ominis cut in smoothly, smug. "Someone has to keep your ego in check."

For a while, Sebastian didn't reply. His boots scraped harder against the path, each drag a punctuation mark of irritation. Ominis could almost feel the heat of his friend's anger radiating off him. Normally it would have been satisfying, if the whole debacle weren't so utterly pathetic.

"Look," Sebastian muttered at last, "I don't need reminding that I made a mess of tonight. Everyone saw it. Everyone already knows."

Ominis's tilted his head. "Yes, I know. Poppy did tell me all about the public snogging."

Sebastian bristled. "It wasn't—Merlin, it wasn't serious. I was drunk."

"Clearly," Ominis said dryly.

By then, the castle had begun to loom around them, its chill stone walls pressing close. They descended into the dungeons. When the common room door sealed behind them, silence seemed to thicken. Only the distant slosh of the Black Lake through the windows filled the gaps.

But even that was silenced when their dormitory door snapped shut.

"Anyway," Sebastian said at last, voice roughened, "Lyra saw."

Ominis turned his head sharply, though he schooled his face into calm. "Oh? And why does that matter?"

"Well, she—she was there. With Poppy. They all saw me kissing Nellie."

Something twisted hard in Ominis's gut. He thought of Lyra's laugh, of her stubborn little sigh when she didn't get her way, of how she teased Sebastian about his handwriting until he stuttered. So what if she'd seen him with someone else? They were just friends. Weren't they?

And yet, before he could stop himself, Ominis asked, too lightly, "Why does it matter if Lyra saw? We're all just friends, aren't we?"

Sebastian barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah. Sure. Except—she looked upset. She ran off. And then she—" He stopped, disbelief roughening his tone. "She kissed Garreth bloody Weasley."

The words landed like a curse in Ominis's chest.

"What?"

Poppy had left that part out.

"I'm serious. I saw them. It was like she was getting back at me or something. She was sitting by the water looking wrecked, and then Weasley slithered up with that smug grin, and—" Sebastian broke off, his voice sour. "She kissed him."

Ominis exhaled though his nose, slow and deliberate. He should have expected it. Lyra was bold, impulsive. She never sat quietly in her feelings. And Garreth was charming enough when he cared to be. Still, the thought of Lyra leaning toward him—

Ominis cut the thought off like a limb.

Sebastian's pacing picked up by the fire. "It's maddening. Garreth Weasley? Of all people—"

"Yes," Ominis said, jealousy sharpening his tongue. "Because you've been such a sterling example of judgement tonight."

Sebastian whipped toward him. "That's different."

"Is it?"

The air grew hot and sour.

Ominis's voice dropped, soft but piercing. "You don't like the thought of Lyra with Garreth."

Sebastian faltered. "I—I'm just protective, alright? I'm her best friend. We're her best friends. We should be protective of her. And she deserves better than that potions-obsessed buffoon—

"And you think you're better?"

He heard Sebastian's mouth snap shut.

The silence stretched, heavy as stone.

Then Ominis spoke again, his words edged like glass. "You're jealous."

Sebastian started to protest, but the retort died on his lips. A heartbeat of silence passed. Then another.

And almost at once, they both breathed it out:

"You like her."

The words cracked the air like lightning.

Sebastian's voice shot up an octave. "Wait—you like her?!"

Heat crawled up Ominis's neck. "You're hardly in any position to sound scandalized."

"All this time—you've been judging me—"

"And with good reason," Ominis snapped, ears burning.

Sebastian gave a wild laugh. "Merlin's beard. We're both—" He cut himself off.

"Yes," Ominis said crisply. "Insane."

For a long moment, they sat in the truth neither of them wanted.

Sebastian, naturally, broke the silence first. "Alright, fine. Let's settle this properly."

Ominis arched a brow. "Oh? Going to duel me for her honor?"

"Tempting, but no." Sebastian's tone wavered, then sobered. "Why don't we just let Lyra choose? Whoever wins her over—wins."

The thought curdled in Ominis's chest. He imagined Lyra's fury if she ever discovered them squabbling over her like a prize. Her disappointment cut sharper than any curse. "No. That would destroy us. She'd hate us for it."

"So what, then?" Sebastian demanded.

Ominis swallowed hard. He knew what needed to be said, though it shredded him to do it. "We make a deal. Neither of us pursue her. Not now. Not ever. We stay friends. That matters more."

"No."

"Sebastian, it's the only way."

"No! I don't want to give her up. Why can't we just compete for her?"

"Because that turns Lyra into a prize. And it will wreck us—you know it will."

Sebastian's pacing grew frantic. Ominis understood. It wasn't just Lyra he feared losing. It was the one relationship he'd clung to through everything, the relationship he wanted to love and cherish, to keep for himself. Forever. Lyra was light to Sebastian's darkness, and he couldn't bear to let it slip away.

Ominis knew. Because he felt it too.

"I—I don't know, Ominis," Sebastian said finally, voice frayed.

"She'd still be ours, Sebastian. As our friend. If we made a deal."

The words hung in the air, aching.

Sebastian's pacing slowed. Silence anchored him. Then, with a breath that sounded torn from him, he rasped, "Fine. A deal, then."

Ominis extended a hand. Sebastian clasped it, tight but entirely unwilling. Their palms sealed it. A promise, a curse.

"Deal," Ominis said softly.

The fire crackled, but Ominis swore he felt something colder coil between them.

Chapter Text

Sebastian had thought—hoped, really—that after the chaos of last night, this morning might feel different. That something would linger: the fight, the kisses, the deal. That some invisible mark would cling to him like smoke after a fire, obvious and inescapable.

But everything was maddeningly ordinary.

The Great Hall hummed with the familiar din of the first day of term. Cutlery scraped plates. House banners stirred lazily in a draft. Professor Weasley clapped for silence in her crisp, authoritative way. Nothing had changed. Except that everything had.

Sebastian's gaze wandered across the table. Lyra was laughing at something Garreth said, her fork twirling idly through scrambled eggs. She was smiling too brightly, too easily. As if she hadn't watched him kiss Nellie last night, as if she hadn't stormed away from the party with him stumbling in her wake.

Her smile was serene. Unshakable. And that was what unsettled him most.

He stabbed at his toast, ignoring Ominis's deliberate sips of pumpkin juice. Ominis no doubt noticed something was off, too. He always did. Sniffed out discomfort like a bloodhound.

When breakfast ended, Lyra slung her bag over her shoulder with infuriating cheer. "I'll meet you both in class," she chirped. "Don't get into trouble before then."

Sebastian wanted to ask her why her voice rang so falsely bright, brittle as spun glass. But he didn't. He only stared, dumbfounded, before remembering himself and giving a stiff nod. Then she was gone.

The day dragged like a punishment. Charms, Transfiguration, then Defense Against the Dark Arts. All blurred into meaningless lectures. Sebastian's quill scratched across parchment, but his mind was elsewhere. Every time he pictured Lyra's smile, irritation prickled like static under his skin. She was too composed. Too deliberately unaffected.

In their first class, she was already seated at their usual table, parchment spread, hair tucked neatly behind her ear. She looked fine. Far too fine.

Even Ominis couldn't ignore it. "Lyra, you sound disgustingly chipper for someone who was nearly thrown in detention last night."

Her lips curved. "We were all nearly thrown in detention. And I had an excellent night's sleep. Besides, today's the start of the year. A clean slate."

Sebastian slid into the seat beside her, eyes narrowing. "A clean slate? After kissing Garreth bloody Weasley?"

"Sebastian," Ominis muttered, warning sharp.

Lyra tilted her head, gaze cutting. "Says you."

He looked away, heat crawling up his neck. "I was drunk. Hardly knew when I was doing."

"We were all too drunk last night. Let's drop it," Ominis said, punctuating the thought with a sharp kick to Sebastian's shin under the table.

Sebastian swallowed his grunt, Ominis's message clear: remember the deal. Don't make things messy. Don't make things complicated. Neither of them could have her, anyway.

Right.

Lyra gave a soft, unbelieving laugh. "Well, speaking of Garreth—he's asked me to join him tonight."

Sebastian's quill slipped, ink blotting the page. "What, like a date?"

"Yes. A date." Her tone was maddeningly casual. "A picnic, actually. Astronomy Tower. Awfully romantic, isn't it?"

"Yes," Ominis said flatly. "Sounds nice. We're happy for you, Lyra."

Though every syllable sounded as if it had been dragged through glass. Sebastian nearly choked on his own bitterness. Lyra had no idea. None. She was oblivious. To him, to Ominis, to the deal.

She hummed and bent back over her parchment as though she hadn't just detonated both of them.

The hours passed in stiff silence. Lyra went to her date; the boys holed up in the library, where homework was a farce. Ominis sighed theatrically while Sebastian seethed. At last, Sebastian threw down his quill, parchment smearing.

"This is unbearable," he muttered.

"You're unbearable," Ominis replied without looking up.

"No," Sebastian snapped. "This. Pretending it's perfectly normal that Lyra is—" His voice caught, jaw tightening.

"Going on a date with Garreth," Ominis finished. "Yes, it's tragic. Shall we erect a monument in the courtyard?"

Sebastian ignored him. His gaze flicked to the empty seat across from them. Lyra's seat. "You know what we should do?"

Ominis groaned. "I dread whatever comes next."

"Crash the date," Sebastian said, a grin tugging at his lips. "We're her best friends. We have every right to make sure Weasley doesn't get any ideas."

"That is not what our deal meant."

"The deal was about us, not him," Sebastian argued, grin widening. "Just because neither of us can have Lyra doesn't mean Weasley should. Think of it as . . . safeguarding."

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Safeguarding. Merlin help me."

Which, in Sebastian's mind, was practically permission.

Garreth had gone to impressive effort, Sebastian had to admit. At the top of the Astronomy Tower—after more stairs than anyone should ever climb—was a blanket spread beneath the stars, a basket of food and butterbeer between two lanterns. Garreth leaned in far too close to Lyra, his ginger hair catching the glow.

Sebastian scowled. "Pathetic."

"Romantic," Ominis corrected, though with audible distaste.

"Same thing."

Lyra spotted them first. Her expression flickered from startled to murderous in an instant. She leapt to her feet, nearly knocking over her goblet. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Sebastian strode forward, arms folded. "Making sure Weasley doesn't poison you with one of his dreadful concoctions."

"It was Felix Felicis tea cakes, actually," Garreth muttered.

Lyra didn't even look at him. Her glare was all for Sebastian. "Out. Both of you."

Sebastian's smirk faltered. He'd expected her to laugh, to roll her eyes, to call them her ridiculous boys. Instead, she looked genuinely furious.

"Lyra—"

"No. I don't want excuses." Her fists curled tight. "Go."

Ominis tugged his sleeve. "Come on, Sebastian. She means it."

For once, Sebastian had no clever retort. He let himself be dragged away, the sting of dismissal burning hotter than he'd admit.

But she found him later. Not in the library, but in a quiet corner of the common room, where he pretended to read while anger still crackled off him like static.

"Sebastian."

He looked up, voice sharp. "What?"

"What the hell was that? I know that was your idea. Ominis would never do that on his own."

He snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the armchair. "What the hell were you doing? You glared at me like I'd ruined your life by showing up to that ridiculous picnic! It was just me and Ominis, Lyra! You don't get to waltz around with Garreth bloody Weasley and expect us to sit quietly while he—"

"While he what? Likes me?" Her eyes flashed. "Merlin forbid someone actually does."

His chest tightened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She gave a bitter laugh. "Don't play dumb, Sebastian."

"No, I'm not playing dumb. Please, explain it to me." His voice was a low growl.

"It's not fair," she said, stepping closer, finger jabbing his chest. "It's not fair for you to go off and kiss Nellie, to toy with people's feelings, only for you to turn livid when someone fancies me. To get mad when I kiss someone else. To get mad when I go out with someone else." Her voice broke slightly, but she pressed on. "How dare you crash my date? How dare you make me feel stupid for entertaining someone when you did the exact same thing!"

"I didn't—" Sebastian faltered. The memory of Nellie's lips, fleeting and meaningless, gnawed at him. He clenched his fists. "You're being childish."

"Oh, I'm the childish one?" Her voice rose, wavering. "You're the one who's childish and cruel. You can't have it both ways, Sebastian. You can't call yourself my best friend and then drag me back whenever you feel like it just because you're suddenly feeling 'protective'."

The silence that followed was brittle as glass.

It was obvious. 'Protective' was a thinly-veiled word for something else entirely.

Lyra shook her head, eyes glistening. "Stay out of my business. If you can't, then maybe we were never friends to begin with."

She brushed past him, leaving him rooted, breath shallow.

Because she was right. Maybe they'd never just been friends. Maybe that something else had always been simmering beneath the surface.

But for the first time, Sebastian realized he didn't need the deal to doom his chances with Lyra. He'd been doing that all on his own.

Chapter Text

Ominis had always found birthdays peculiar. His own had passed each year with little ceremony: perhaps an owl from his horrid parents if they remembered, a stiff handshake from a cousin if they didn't. He'd grown up believing birthdays were simply another day to endure.

But Lyra saw the world differently.

When he'd once confessed his indifference, she had laughed. Bright, incredulous. What's the point of living, she'd said, if you don't let people celebrate you once in a while?

So Ominis had made himself a quiet, unspoken promise: when her birthday came, he would do everything in his power to make sure she felt celebrated.

The morning of her seventeenth dawned crisp, the castle alive with early chatter. Ominis could hear the hum of voices at the Slytherin table before he reached it, Lyra's laugh carrying above the rest. Warm, unrestrained, impossible to mistake. Someone had charmed a cluster of balloons, their faint squeaks brushing against the vaulted ceiling as they bobbed and drifted.

He slid into his usual place beside her, careful not to jostle two younger students, and allowed himself the smallest smile.

"Happy birthday, Lyra," he said, lifting his head toward her voice.

She gasped and spun in her seat, arms flying around him before he could brace himself. "Ominis! You remembered."

He laughed softly, returning her embrace, and was honestly a bit shocked that she wasn't still cross with him for crashing her date the night before. "I hardly think forgetting would be possible when you've informed the entire House that yours is the very first Slytherin birthday of the year," he teased.

Her hand brushed lightly against his forearm as she pulled back. A fleeting touch, but enough to steady him. "Still. Thank you."

Others crowded in with gifts: chocolate frogs, enchanted quills, even a set of green silk hair ribbons from Violet that made Lyra squeal with delight. Ominis gave her a book she'd been eager to read, some ridiculous romance novel no doubt, but it made her happy nonetheless. Ominis listened to her bask in it all, every laugh of hers spilling like sunlight, and felt glad. She deserved this brightness.

But one voice remained conspicuously silent.

Sebastian sat across the table, his greeting nothing more than a half-hearted hi when Ominis first joined them. No gift. No cheerful wish. No trace of the friend who usually thrived in showering Lyra in attention.

Ominis knew better. He'd stumbled across the wrapped parcel hidden in Sebastian's trunk on the first day of term, while digging for his own ink bottle. The crumpled paper had been impossible to miss. But now, Sebastian was pretending as though Lyra's birthday had slipped his mind entirely—as if that were remotely possible when the Great Hall was practically echoing with her name.

Ominis's jaw tightened.

Classes blurred past, his mind wandering from lecture to lecture, far more attuned to the cadence of Lyra's chatter than any professor's voice. Beneath her deliberate cheerfulness, he caught something else: the strain. As though she had noticed Sebastian's silence and was determined to drown it in laughter.

By the time afternoon sun spilled through windows, Ominis had made up his mind. He would not let her birthday end under the shadow of Sebastian's silence. After all, he and Poppy had planned something better.

"Lyra," he said gently as they spilled out of Charms, his hand brushing her sleeve to catch her attention. "Would you allow me to escort you to Hogsmeade this evening?"

Her voice lilted with mischief. "On my birthday? You mean to ply me with butterbeer?"

"Something like that."

She hesitated, and though Ominis couldn't see it, he was almost certain her gaze was flicking toward Sebastian who lingered behind them. Still, when she turned back, her smile touched her words. "I'd love that."

The Three Broomsticks was a furnace of warmth and chatter when they arrived, Lyra's boots clicking beside him as he pushed open the heavy door. A sudden chorus of voices—"Surprise!"—made her squeal, the sound bubbling up like champagne.

Poppy had outdone herself: a long table set with frothing butterbeer, treacle tart stacked high on silver plates, and a bouquet of enchanted flowers that twisted and rearranged themselves into the shape of an L.

"Ominis!" Lyra clutched his arm. "You absolute schemer. You knew?"

He let a small smile curve his mouth. "I might have."

She laughed and dragged him toward the table, her excitement spilling into the air. For the next hour, Ominis simply listened. Poppy and Natsai telling wild stories, Garreth cracking foolish jokes with all the desperation of a boy half in love. Ominis wanted to hex him.

But Lyra was shining brighter than he had ever heard her. She thanked them with a trembling voice, admitting she'd never had such a celebration before.

That tugged at his chest. He knew the kind of loneliness she meant, though she carried it far more gracefully than he ever had. Still, he doubted an orphanage was much kinder than Gaunt Manor.

Later, when the crowd thinned and the noise softened into a gentle hum, Ominis found himself by the window with Lyra.

"You've been quiet," she said, her voice gentle.

"I was enjoying listening," he replied. "Besides, it isn't my day."

"Still." She nudged his shoulder, playful but tender. "You helped put this all together. And you make it better, you know."

The words tangled in his throat. He forced out the simplest truth he could manage. "I'm glad."

A comfortable silence stretched between them, until her voice dipped low. "I can't believe how Sebastian's acting, though."

Ominis inhaled slowly. He could lie. Brush it off as Sebastian's usual sulk. Or he could tell her the truth. He had sworn never to treat her as his family had treated him: with omissions dressed as kindness, with falsehoods that suffocated more than they sheltered. But the whole truth was impossible. Not tonight.

"Yes," Ominis said carefully. "I think he's still embarrassed about all the party dramatics and date-crashing."

Lyra huffed a brittle laugh. "Why's he acting like he forgot then? He didn't even come tonight. He loves a good drink."

"Well." Ominis gave in. "He certainly didn't forget. I can promise you that."

A heartbeat passed before she asked, curiosity damning her, "What do you mean?"

"He got you a gift. I . . . stumbled across it the first day back. But for some reason, he hasn't given it to you. I'm sorry, Lyra. I think he's just being petty about everything that's happened lately."

The silence this time was heavier, laced with something raw.

"But why wouldn't he?" she whispered. Her voice trembled.

Ominis wished desperately that he could see her face, read the expressions flitting across her eyes. "Perhaps he doesn't know how," he admitted softly.

Her chair scraped faintly as she leaned closer. "Well, don't tell him I told you this, but we did get into a fight. After you and him showed up at the Astronomy Tower."

"Oh," Ominis managed, his chest tight.

"Do you think it means he's still mad at me?"

His pulse hammered. For one dangerous moment, he wanted to tell her everything. That Sebastian's silence was no anger but something far more complicated, that his own restraint was a mirror of the same. That they were both hopelessly tangled around her, bound by something neither of them could admit aloud.

Not mad at her, he wanted to say. Never that.

But he couldn't. Not tonight.

Instead, he forced out, "I think it means he cares more than he lets on. Even if he's too stubborn to admit it."

She was quiet for a long time. Then, in a whisper: "Thank you, Ominis."

"For what?"

"For not letting me think I wasn't worth remembering."

Her hand slipped into his then. Warm, sure, devastating. He should have let go. He knew that. But he didn't. He sat there with her fingers laced through his, in the warmth of the pub, and allowed himself to imagine—just for tonight—that there might be a world where no deal existed between him and Sebastian. A world where Lyra might have chosen him after all.

Chapter Text

Sebastian Sallow had never been good at apologies.

It wasn't that he couldn't say the words. He had, far too many times to count. To Ominis. To Anne. To Lyra. But apologies carried weight, and weight was dangerous. Weight meant acknowledgment. Weight meant guilt. And Merlin knew he already bore enough of that to break him.

So when Lyra found him the morning after her birthday, standing beneath one of the stone arches of the Transfiguration courtyard with the autumn wind snapping at his robes, his first instinct was to run. He told himself it was because he was late for class, but the truth pressed tight against his ribs: he was afraid of what she would say. Afraid she'd finally name what he'd been too much of a coward to face. That he'd been treating her miserably since term began.

"Sebastian."

Her voice was light. Not angry. That almost made it worse.

He turned, forcing an easy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lyra. What's up?"

She crossed her arms, her expression soft but resolute, and fell into step beside him. "Look, Sebastian—I'll just say it. I don't want things to be . . . stiff. Between us."

The words struck harder than they should have. Stiff. That was exactly what they'd become, wasn't it? Stiff glances, stilted silences, conversations that had once flowed like butterbeer now clinging like treacle in the throat.

"Stiff?" he echoed, raising a brow.

"You know what I mean. I don't want this—whatever this is—hanging over us. You're my best friend, Sebastian. I want things to feel normal again."

Normal. That cursed word again. What was normal? Before Solomon. Before Anne. Before curses and choices that had nearly torn them all apart? He wasn't sure they'd ever have that kind of normal again. But the way she looked at him—hopeful, earnest—loosened something inside him he hadn't realized was wound so tight.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Alright. No more stiffness. Truce?"

"Truce."

She stuck out her hand with theatrical solemnity. Sebastian, truthfully, was half-tempted to refuse. He still couldn't shake hands without thinking of that damned deal with Ominis, but he clasped hers anyway. Her fingers were warm. Too warm. He let go too quickly.

"Oh—and . . . " He hesitated, then added, "I didn't say it yesterday, but—happy belated birthday, Lyra."

Her smile lit her whole face, and guilt curled sharp in his stomach. Because the gift was still sitting at the bottom of his trunk, poorly wrapped and hidden like a confession he wasn't ready to make.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

-----

The weeks that followed were startlingly ordinary.

Sebastian hadn't realized how much he missed ordinary. The three of them—him, Lyra, Ominis—slipped back into old rhythms. Study sessions in the library where Lyra scolded him for his barely legible notes. Late-night walks to the kitchens where Ominis muttered about rules even as he followed close behind. Afternoons by the Black Lake where Lyra skimmed stones across the water and Sebastian pretended not to notice when her shoulder brushed his.

It was easy. Comforting. Dangerous.

Because every laugh Lyra gave, every glance she tossed across the common room, reminded him of what he couldn't have. What he'd promised Ominis he wouldn't take. The deal had been necessary, he told himself. If either of them pursued her, it would destroy the fragile thread of friendship holding the three of them together.

But some nights, lying awake in the dark, Sebastian wondered if the deal had been more curse than cure.

He managed to push the thought aside. Until Halloween.

-----

The Keenbridge pub was transformed.

Sirona had wisely refused to let The Three Broomsticks be overrun with drunken Hogwarts students, so someone had convinced the pub owners in Keenbridge to host instead. Picturesque was an understatement. The outdoor bar overlooked a stream that caught the candlelight, and the hills of the valley stretched endless and dark beyond it.

Orange banners hung like webs from the railings. Jack-o'-lanterns floated, their grins mischievous in the lamplight. The air was thick with the scents of roasted pumpkin seeds, spiced cider, and crisp countryside wind. The barkeep was far too generous with the butterbeer, and Garreth Weasley was already three mugs deeps, standing on the table and singing badly (no doubt in Lyra's direction, wherever she was).

Students thronged in costume: witches in overlarge hats, skeletons, knights, bees, cats. Every cliché imaginable. Sebastian wore sleek black, with a simple mask to match. He wasn't sure what it made him. A thief? A villain? A dark wizard? Let people decide. All of it fit too well.

Ominis, predictably, had refused to wear a costume. Far beneath him, he'd declared. Still, he looked sharp in a black shirt and grey vest, his blond hair slicked neatly back. Perhaps his pale eyes were unsettling enough to count as a costume on their own.

Sebastian leaned against the railing by the water, trying for detached nonchalance, but the moment his gaze skimmed the crowd, it found her.

Lyra.

She was radiant. Dark hair spilling loose over her shoulders, cheeks flushed from excitement, her teal dress shimmering in the candlelight. Her hair gleamed wet. Slicked with some charm, or perhaps just water. Scales shimmered across her arms and face. A mermaid, or maybe a siren. Siren suited her better. Poppy, at her side, wore wings strapped to her back, a fairy to Lyra's siren.

Lyra laughed at something Poppy whispered, the sound catching Sebastian square in the chest.

He should have looked away. Should have found a drink. But when her gaze swept the room and caught his, when her grin widened at the sight of him, Sebastian found himself rooted in place. She murmured something to Poppy, who drifted off, and then she was weaving through the crowd toward him.

"Sebastian!" she called, cider-bright, a little unsteady but graceful all the same. "Why are you lurking in corners? That's Ominis's job."

Ominis, leaning stiffly nearby, gave a dry snort. "She's not wrong."

Lyra stopped in front of them, cheeks pink, her breath sweet with cider. "You both look nice," she declared, eyeing their outfits. "Sebastian, you're . . . a dark wizard?"

He grinned. "Something like that."

"And Ominis, you're . . . Ominis Gaunt."

"Precisely," he replied flatly.

Lyra giggled, and Sebastian's chest tightened.

"Well regardless, you two are supposed to be celebrating, not sulking."

"We are celebrating," Sebastian said. "Celebrating being the only coherent ones here."

She swatted his arm. "What's gotten into you? Sebastian Sallow is never a bore. Get a drink and come dance."

"I don't dance."

"Liar. You danced with me last year."

"That was different."

"How?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came. Different because you weren't looking at me like this. Because I didn't know what it felt like to lose everything back then.

"Well," Ominis interrupted smoothly, pushing off the railing, "I'll fetch the drinks. What do you want, Sebastian?"

"Firewhisky. Thanks."

"And I'll ha—" Lyra began.

"You're cut off for a while," Ominis told her with a faint smile.

She pouted, but as Ominis disappeared into the crowd, her focus swung back to Sebastian. Too focused for a drunk.

"Well anyway." She poked his chest. "You still owe me."

"Owe you?"

"For ignoring me on my birthday." Her expression turned mock-serious, though her slurred words softened it. "I know you got me something. Ominis told me."

Sebastian's stomach sank. His eyes shot across he room, uselessly, to glare at Ominis.

Lyra leaned closer, her voice dropping. "So. What'd you get me?"

"None of your business," he muttered.

"Oh, so secretive." She swayed dangerously close, giggling. "It actually is my business, since it was supposed to be my birthday gift."

"Lyra, you're drunk. You should find Poppy."

Her smile faltered into a frown. "You're awful, you know that? You give me such a hard time and I still—"

"Still what?"

But she only huffed an angry breath. And then proceeded to scowl down into her empty glass, stumbling as she did.

Sebastian caught her elbow, steadying her.

"Oops. Thanks," she murmured, her hand lingering on his arm.

His lingered, too.

And suddenly it was all so very—

"Look, I'm sorry," Lyra said softly. "For bringing up the gift. I'm drunk and stupid and . . . sorry."

Her apology cut deeper than expected. Because she had nothing to apologize for. He was the one who'd been cruel. He was the one who hadn't given her the gift.

"No." His hand slipped from her arm to rake through his hair. "I'm sorry, Lyra. For all of it."

But her hand didn't let go. Her fingers even tightened slightly against his sleeve.

"I know," she whispered.

He should have brushed it off. Should have gone back to normalcy like they'd promised each other. But his gaze betrayed him, dropping to her mouth. The faint shine of cider still glistening there. She leaned in, and for one terrifying, exhilarating heartbeat, he thought she was going to kiss him.

And he wanted her to. Merlin help him, he wanted her to.

"Lyra . . . " he began, but the moment shattered like glass.

"Did you two survive without me?" came a dry voice.

"Ominis!" she squealed, spinning away as he returned with drinks. "There you are! Come on, both of you. Dance with me!"

Ominis's jaw tightened, his head tilting toward Sebastian instinctively. As though he could feel what he'd interrupted. His blind eyes narrowed just slightly. A reminder. The deal. The line they could not cross.

Sebastian shoved his hands deep into his pockets, as though that could bury the ache in them. "Go on, Lyra," he said lightly, though his voice cracked. "Ominis is the better dancer anyway."

Her eyes lingered on him for a beat too long before she shook her head slightly, as if banishing some dangerous thought, and tugged Ominis toward the crowd. Her laughter trailed after her like smoke.

And Sebastian was left alone in the corner once more, wondering how much longer he could keep his promises before something broke.

Chapter Text

The Keenbridge pub still smelled faintly of spilled butterbeer and smoke from the enchanted jack-o'-lanterns that hovered stubbornly overhead. The party had sputtered out at last, leaving only embers of laughter echoing around them.

Ominis leaned against the bar rail, wand turning idly between his fingers, and let the hush settle over him after hours of music and drunken chatter.

The silence was a mercy. Silence meant he could think.

And thinking meant replaying the evening in punishing clarity.

He had danced with Lyra. Truly danced. Her hand light in his, her breath warm with laughter, the swish of her skirt brushing against his knees as he spun her in time with the music. For a moment he'd forgotten himself. Forgotten Sebastian, brooding in the corner like a storm cloud poised to break. Forgotten the deal. Forgotten everything.

Except Sebastian had not.

Even now, Ominis could feel the phantom weight of his friend's stare burning across the dance floor. Earlier—when Ominis had gone for drinks—he'd returned to find Lyra cornering Sebastian, voice low and slurred, teasing, apologizing. The air between them had been thick, charged, undeniable.

Ominis had interrupted. Too neatly, perhaps. But he had. Intentionally.

He turned his wand between his fingers. He wasn't blind to the truth. Something was happening between them. Something Sebastian had no right to begin when they had made their deal. Neither of them would pursue her. That had been the agreement. A safeguard, meant to keep their friendship intact.

But Sebastian had never been very good at restraint.

A soft groan pulled Ominis from his thoughts. He tilted his head, listening. Lyra. A quick sweep of his wand showed her sprawled inelegantly across one of the tables, hair in tangles, shoes abandoned beneath the bench. She mumbled something unintelligible, then stilled.

"Merlin's sake," Sebastian muttered nearby, his voice low, sharp with that familiar irritation that came whenever worry threatened to show. "We should get her back."

Ominis sighed. "Alright. You take one side."

Between them, they slung Lyra's arms across their shoulders and half-carried, half-dragged her to the Floo. Soon enough, they stumbled into the Slytherin common room with her limp between them.

The girls' staircase loomed. They halted.

They both knew the rules. The charmed staircase would never let them carry her up.

"Alright, Lyra," Ominis coaxed, steady and patient. "Just up these steps, and you'll be in bed."

She mumbled into his shoulder, head rolling.

"Bloody hell, she can't even hold her own head up," Sebastian whispered.

"She's not making it upstairs," Ominis replied evenly.

"What then? Leave her on a couch down here?"

"No. She'll catch her death of cold, and the prefects always give detention if they catch you out of bed." Sharper than he'd meant, but true.

The silence that followed was agreement enough.

They hauled her up the boys' staircase instead, Lyra muttering something about her birthday before breaking into soft laughter. At last, they nudged open the heavy dormitory door.

Sheets rustled. A roommate's sleepy voice mumbled, "Wh—what's happening?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep," Ominis said firmly.

A slump against a pillow sounded. They carried Lyra toward their corner, then stopped short between their two beds.

Sebastian sighed. "Well, she'll have to crash here."

"On the floor?" Ominis asked coolly.

"Don't be ridiculous. One of our beds. Unless you'd rather she sleep on the rug."

Ominis's jaw tightened. He could already feel the direction of Sebastian's thoughts.

"Fine," he said. "Whose?"

A pause. Heavy. Too long. Ominis could sense Sebastian's mind turning over the same possibilities as his own.

"One of us can take the couch in the common room," Ominis offered flatly. "She can have the bed."

"So noble."

"So, who's it going to be?"

"Why must one of us freeze on the couch?" Sebastian countered. "It's miserable down there. No fire. No blankets. So . . ." He hesitated, then pressed on. "One of us could just stay in the bed with her. It's not as though the deal allows for—anything."

The implication sank into the air like smoke.

Ominis's throat tightened. Logic told him Sebastian was right. Nothing should happen. Nothing would happen. They had sworn to each other.

And yet. Ominis knew Sebastian too well. He'd walked in on something earlier. He'd felt Sebastian's stare during the dance. He could already imagine it. Sebastian lying too close, brushing her hand without meaning to. Or meaning to after all.

Unbearable.

But he knew Sebastian would not be able to tolerate the sight of Lyra in his bed. One of them had to give in.

And it would, of course, be Ominis.

"Then let it be you," Ominis said, voice clipped. "She can have your bed."

Sebastian stilled. " . . . You're serious?"

"Quite."

"Really? I figured you wouldn't actually trust me."

"Do you want her in your bed or not?" Ominis slipped free of Lyra's arm, giving Sebastian her full weight. He guided himself toward his own bed, unbuttoning his best with deliberate calm. Anything to busy his hands. "Besides," he added quietly, "you're right. We made a deal. Nothing happened tonight. Nothing will happen now."

He felt Sebastian's gaze linger. Sharp. Knowing. Because something had happened tonight. Lyra with Sebastian. Lyra with him.

"Nothing will happen," Sebastian said at last. His voice softer now, almost earnest. Guilty, maybe. "I promise."

Ominis inclined his head but gave no reply. Promises from Sebastian were dangerous things.

Let Sebastian make his promises. Ominis knew better than to believe them.

By then, Lyra had gone slack against him, practically asleep. He listened as Sebastian lowered her into his bed with a surprising tenderness. Ominis might have admired it. If it hadn't cut like a blade.

The pillow rustled as she curled into the sheets.

Sebastian lingered a beat too long. Ominis heard the hesitation in his breath.

"It's fine. Go to sleep, Sebastian," Ominis said sharply.

A pause, then the soft swish of bed drapes being drawn shut. Sensible. It would spare their roommates the shock of finding a girl in their dormitory come morning. Or give them privacy.

The mattress creaked as Sebastian slid under the covers.

Ominis laid down in his own bed, turning to the wall. He heard every shift of fabric, every uneven breath.

He closed his eyes, though sight had never mattered. He didn't need vision to imagine Sebastian inching too close, or Lyra curling unconsciously nearer. He didn't need eyes to picture betrayal.

But that lack of sight, truthfully, was precisely why he let her sleep in Sebastian's bed.

Because between the two of them, only Ominis could bear it. Sebastian would have brooded endlessly at the sight of Lyra in Ominis's bed. But Ominis—blind Ominis—would not see. He would not watch.

But he would hear.

And that, somehow, felt worse.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his body still. He had made his choice. He would lie in the dark, blind but not unknowing, and listen. To the sound of Sebastian keeping his word. Or breaking it.

Either way, Ominis knew he would not sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

Sebastian could've sworn he'd fallen asleep with his hands pinned firmly to his sides.

He remembered lying stiff as a board, arms flat against the mattress like he'd been petrified. Every thought had been bent on restraint. Don't move. Don't slip. Don't you dare give Ominis the satisfaction of being right. Sebastian could hear it in his friend's voice. Ominis had absolutely expected him to break his word. Knew something was happening between him and Lyra at the party. So Sebastian had sworn, to Ominis and to himself, that nothing would happen. Not this time.

And for once, he had meant to keep that promise.

But sometime in the faint gray hours of the morning, things had shifted. He had no idea when or how it happened, only that now Lyra was curled against his chest, her head tucked neatly beneath his chin. And his arms—traitorous, treacherous things—were wrapped tight around her, as though they'd been made for this and nothing else.

The strangest part was how natural it felt.

The moment his eyes cracked open and he realized what had happened, Sebastian froze. His heart thundered like a Bludger against his ribs, so loud he was certain it would wake her. But Lyra still dozed, her breath steady and soft against his chest. And Sebastian, Merlin help him, did not let go.

He hadn't held anyone like this since Anne, years ago, when they were children pressed beneath one blanket against the cold. That had been simple, innocent. This was not. This carried the dizzying weight of everything he wasn't supposed to want.

Lyra shifted in her sleep, her nose brushing his collarbone. Sebastian's breath caught. She smelled faintly of last night's spiced cider and that floral soap she always used, the one he noticed without meaning to. Strands of her dark hair spilled across his chest, one tickling his jaw.

Merlin, he could stay like this forever.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as though that could blot out the truth of it. He wasn't supposed to have this. Not with the deal, his deal, with Ominis. A fragile arrangement meant to keep the three of them from tearing each other apart. By all accounts, this could've been Ominis with Lyra in his bed, if not for Ominis's insistence she sleep here instead. The deal was meant to be sensible, safe. And yet here Sebastian was, holding her like she already belonged to him.

So for one reckless, stolen moment, he let himself believe it.

Then Lyra stirred. Her lashes fluttered. Her body stiffened, just slightly. She was awake. She was realizing.

Shit.

What am I supposed to do? Let go? Pretend I just woke up too? Keeping holding her? What does she want me to do?

His thoughts stopped the instant her eyes met his.

Dark brown, hazy with sleep, soft in a way that gutted him. Sebastian's world ground to a halt.

For one suspended, breathless moment, she simply gazed up at him, face still half-buried against his chest. And in the dim wash of morning light, Sebastian thought—no, he knew—this was the most perfect sight he had ever seen. No secret, no spell, no victory had ever struck him so wholly.

His lips parted. Words should have come. Something clever, something easy, something that could disguise how undone he was. But his mind was blank. All he could do was look back at her, caught in the snare of her gaze.

She said nothing either.

A strand of hair shadowed her cheek. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it behind her ear, fingertips grazing her skin. Her breath hitched.

The air tightened, electric, as if the entire castle held its breath. Lyra's lips parted, on the verge of words—

Reality crashed back.

Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, snatched his hand away, and pressed a finger to his lips in a silent shush. He wrenched the curtain aside just enough to peer past, eyes darting across the room. Three empty beds. Trunks snapped shut. Shoes gone. Ominis's bed already made.

Relief roared through him. Thank Merlin.

If Ominis had caught them like this, it would've been the end of everything.

Sebastian looked back at Lyra and realized his other arm was still looped tightly around her. He dropped it at once and muttered, "It's all clear."

She pushed herself up on her elbows, confusion flickering across her features. He sat up too, dragging a hand through his hopeless hair, and forced a sheepish smile.

Lyra met his eyes and let out a small, bashful laugh.

The sound twisted something in his chest. He managed his own soft chuckle, though it came out rough.

After a beat, she tried, "So . . . um . . . ?"

"You, uh—you drank a bit too much last night," he said hastily, keeping his voice low. "Couldn't make it up the stairs. Figured you'd be better off here than passed out in the common room."

Her cheeks flushed, though he couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or something else. "I'm shocked you didn't leave me on the rug," she teased.

"That wouldn't be very gentlemanly of us, now would it?" he shot back, aiming for lightness. "Besides, Ominis actually insisted you sleep in my bed."

That made her brow crease, just slightly. But she didn't press. Only hummed under her breath.

Her gaze drifted toward the room beyond the curtains. "And Ominis . . . ?"

"Already gone," Sebastian muttered, swinging his legs to the floor. The cold stone jolted him fully awake. "Everyone's gone. You don't have to worry."

Lyra sat up properly, hair mussed, cheeks warm, still wrapped in the faint smell of sleep and cider. She glanced down at her smudged mermaid scales from last night's costume, then nodded slowly. "I . . . thank you. For letting me stay."

Sebastian swallowed. "Of course." The words came out quieter than he meant.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged. Not uncomfortable. Just impossible to ignore. Every second etched itself into his skin. He couldn't look at her without remembering the way she'd gazed up at him, as though she belonged there.

He stood abruptly, pulling back the rest of the drapes. His eyes snagged on two cups sitting on his bedside table. A folded note beside them:

For Lyra. Water, and a draught to help with her headache.
- O

Sebastian cleared his throat and held one glass out to her. "Looks like Ominis left you something. Supposed to help with the headache."

"Oh, thank Merlin," she said, reaching for it. She grimaced at the first sip but drained it anyway.

Sebastian silently cursed himself for not thinking of it. Instead, he busied himself with his wardrobe, pulling out a clean jumper. If he dressed quickly enough, maybe he could pretend nothing had happened. Safer that way. For him, for her, for Ominis.

And yet, Lyra lingered on his bed, not quite sure what to do with herself.

"So, um," he murmured, "you feel good enough for breakfast?"

"Yeah. I think so," she said softly.

He nodded. Tried, failed, tried again. "Do you—want me to wait for you? We could head up together."

Her face brightened at that. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

As she slipped from his bed, murmuring about changing and freshening up, Sebastian handed her the second glass of water. Their fingers brushed. Fleeting, accidental. Neither of them pulled away at once.

She gave him a small, sheepish smile before slipping out the door.

And Sebastian knew he was damned.

Because he knew—with absolute certainty—that he would never forget the sight of Lyra's dark, endless eyes looking up at him from his chest.

Like he was something she'd been waiting for all along.

Chapter Text

Ominis had been awake long before Sebastian and Lyra finally stumbled into the Great Hall. Sleep had not come easy in that infernal dormitory, but it wasn't the sleeplessness that told him something had shifted. He'd felt it first. An almost imperceptible change in the air, the hush of routine replaced with a quiet electricity that prickled at his skin.

Their seats at the Slytherin table had been empty too long. Normally, Lyra was punctual, dragging Sebastian along at her side, the pair laughing, squabbling, or sulking together in comfortable silence. Today, their absence lingered like a warning bell. Expected, perhaps, given Lyra's drunken state last night. But expectation didn't stop his thoughts from running in dangerous circles.

He sipped his tea, face carefully arranged into neutrality, just as the scrape of benches announced their arrival.

"Morning," Sebastian muttered, voice rough, pitched just a shade too casual.

Lyra, sliding in beside Ominis, laughed softly. The sound clung to the air like perfume, light and lingering.

"Morning," she echoed. Then, with that disarming warmth that always made Ominis's chest tighten against reason, she added, "I think I owe you a thank-you, Ominis. For letting me crash in your room last night. And for the headache draught. Merlin, that potion saved me."

"Think nothing of it," he replied smoothly, though unease gnawed at him. Letting her sleep in Sebastian's bed had been a mistake. He should have insisted she find her own space, should have kept her away from Sebastian—

Before the thought could spiral further, another voice cut across the table.

"Lyra!"

Garreth Weasley burst in like a firework, carrying with him the faint scent of sugar and singed parchment. Clear evidence of some illicit brewing experiment. He leaned against the table, altogether too close to her.

"Good morning. Feeling alright? You looked—er—pretty far gone last night."

Ominis stiffened. He didn't need sight to know Sebastian had gone rigid too.

Lyra gave a sheepish laugh. "I'm fine, thanks. Just needed some sleep."

"Good," Garreth said brightly, far too brightly. "Glad to hear it." He lingered just long enough for Ominis to guess he'd given an obnoxious wink, then sauntered off humming under his breath.

The silence he left behind was sharp as glass.

"Is he still chasing after you?" Sebastian asked, tone edged.

"Persistent idiot," Ominis added, voice dry. But the irritation came from more than protectiveness.

Lyra only crunched into a piece of toast, unbothered. "No, actually . . ."

The pause twisted something deep in Ominis's stomach.

"I broke things off with him," she said at last, matter-of-fact. "Didn't like him like that. He was just being friendly."

The words hung in the air, heavy and telling.

Ominis's pulse stumbled. Not with relief, but suspicion He remembered the party, the moment he had interrupted. And then last night. Her asleep in Sebastian's bed.

No. Too convenient.

He schooled his features into polite indifference, even as the thought struck with sickening clarity: he had practically delivered her into Sebastian's arms.

Breakfast carried on, but Ominis barely tasted a thing. His tea was bitter, his toast dry. When they rose to leave, he acted before caution could still him.

Catching Sebastian's arm, he murmured, "A word." Steering him aside, he lowed his voice. "How was last night?"

"Last night?"

"With Lyra. In your bed. Obviously." Ominis enunciated each word, venom curling beneath the surface. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Sebastian hesitated. A fraction too long. For a moment, Ominis thought he might actually confess. Instead, his friend groaned.

"Nothing happened. Honestly. She fell asleep. That's it."

Ominis tilted his head, sifting through cadence and breath for truth. He wanted desperately to believe, but Sebastian's voice had always been adept at bending sincerity into half-truths.

"Nothing," Sebastian repeated, firmer.

Ominis let the silence stretch, heavy enough to make his meaning clear. "Good. Because no more funny business. No almost-moments. No emboldening her just because she spent the night in your bed. We made a deal, Sebastian."

"I know the bloody deal," Sebastian snapped. "You don't have to remind me every five minutes."

"Clearly, I do," Ominis muttered.

-----

Life went on. Outwardly, at least. Classes. Meals. Study sessions in the library where Lyra draped her legs across one of their laps like she always did, but remained oblivious to how something so careless could undo them both. To the world, they were still the inseparable trio.

But Ominis felt the deal like a stone lodged in his chest. He heard it in Sebastian's clipped words, felt it in the way Lyra's laughter sometimes lingered too long in Sebastian's direction.

He told himself to bury it. To be the loyal friend he had always been. And it may have been a selfish thought, but if Lyra fancied Sebastian, well—then it wouldn't matter. Not with the deal.

He saw it firsthand in the Undercroft.

He hadn't meant to overhear. He had only been passing through to fetch forgotten books when Sebastian's low, uneasy voice reached him. Followed by Lyra's, hesitant but threaded with hope. They sounded from the table in the back. Studying together.

" . . . maybe we could go sometime—together—"

Sebastian's answer came with a laugh too sharp to be kind. It pained him to say the words. "Lyra . . . we've got too much schoolwork. Other things. I just don't think we'll have time."

Her silence cut through him, aching and raw.

"Yeah. You're probably right," she whispered at last.

Ominis lingered just long enough to hear Sebastian excuse himself, muttering some lie about getting sleep. And then, footsteps retreating. When Sebastian caught him at the door, his voice was strained.

"Ominis?"

"What was that?" Ominis demanded, low and sharp.

Sebastian huffed a bitter laugh. "What's it matter, anyway? Hope you're happy." His mask slipped, resentment laid bare, and then he stormed past.

Ominis should have felt guilty. Instead, guilt flickered only briefly before something else took root. Sebastian had already stolen more than one moment with her. Perhaps Ominis deserved one of his own.

He stepped further inside.

Lyra sat alone at the worn wooden bench, her usual bravado cracked.

"Lyra," Ominis said softly.

She startled, then brightened with familiar ease. "Ominis. Didn't hear you."

He crossed the room, wand pulsing gently, and sat beside her. For once, sarcasm deserted him. "Came in as Sebastian was leaving. Just here to grab my books."

They sat a beat in silence. Then Lyra's voice, tentative but light: "Well . . . while you're here, want to help me study for History? Sebastian ditched me for sleep."

"I'd love to," he said simply.

She perked up. "I mean, you don't have to if you've already—"

"No, trust me," Ominis cut in gently. "I could always use brushing up on History of Magic. I don't think I've stayed awake in a single one of Binns's lectures."

That earned him a laugh—bright, genuine—and for a moment, the ground tilted beneath him.

Lyra cracked her book back open, the spine creaking as she leaned close. Ominis snatched his from where it sat forgotten on the table.

"Alright, so where'd you leave off?"

"Er—some goblin rebellion?"

"That's not helpful," he teased. "You're a lost cause."

"Says the one who just confessed to falling asleep in every class."

He was unable to stop the rare smile that tugged at his mouth.

And after a while, her voice softened. "I really appreciate this, Ominis. Staying up with me. I know you've already studied", she teased with a nudge to his shoulder. But he allowed himself, for the first time in weeks, to answer without a mask.

"Well, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

And when she leaned in, he didn't pull away.

Chapter Text

Sebastian had been doing an excellent job of avoiding Lyra the next day.

Well, avoiding might have been too strong a word. He still walked her to class, still shared meals, still claimed the same spot with her and Ominis on the common room sofas. To anyone watching, the three of them were as they had always been: Ominis, the polished voice of reason; Lyra, sharp-tongued and magnetic; and Sebastian, the troublemaker trailing one step behind, guilty conscience and all.

But it wasn't the same. Not since the Undercroft. Not since she had leaned toward him with that hopeful glint in her eyes, her words offhand but weighted, testing him. And he had shut her down.

He hadn't wanted to. Merlin, every nerve in his body had screamed at him to break the deal, to kiss her and damn the consequences. But Ominis's voice, their promise, had roared louder.

So he had laughed it off. Pretended they didn't have time. Pretended it didn't feel like tearing something vital from himself.

And now Lyra was different with him today. Not colder, exactly, but careful. She smiled, teased, laughed. But cautiously, as if she wasn't sure how close she was allowed to stand anymore. As if she were afraid of pressing a bruise.

Sebastian hated it. Hated the way her laugh caught in her throat instead of spilling easily toward him. Hated the silences that stretched too long between them.

And worst of all, Ominis had noticed.

He hadn't said much. Just a sharp warning after breakfast yesterday, a reminder that Sebastian was skating dangerously close to the edge. But Sebastian felt it every time Ominis's blind eyes seemed to turn toward him, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down. One glance at Lyra too long, and Sebastian could almost hear the disapproval in the crease of Ominis's brow.

It was unbearable.

So when Professor Ronen waved them down in Charms that afternoon, Sebastian all but welcomed the distraction.

"Ah, my favorite trio!" Ronen's voice boomed across the room, as merry as ever. He gestured toward the cluttered staircase leading to his office, boxes and scrolls teetering in precarious towers. "I need a small favor. My game pieces for today's lesson. I've forgotten them. Miss Lyra, you know the way, yes? Take the boys up with you, fetch them for me. Be useful, gentlemen. There may be a great deal to carry."

Lyra perked up immediately. "Sure, Professor. Closet, right?"

"Perhaps!" Ronen said cheerfully. "Or the chest. I can't be sure. But regardless, I know you'll find them."

Sebastian groaned inwardly, but Lyra was already tugging Ominis toward the stairs. He followed reluctantly, hands shoved in his pockets.

Lyra pushed into the office with practiced confidence. She'd been here often last year for those "extra assignments". Catch-up work, the professors had called it. Though Sebastian knew she hardly needed it. She'd outpaced them all before long.

Now, she stood at the closet, rummaging. "Hmm . . . they should be . . . just here."

More shuffling. Nothing. She turned, lips pursed, brow creased in a way that made Sebastian's chest ache. She looked beautiful like that—

Stop it.

Her gaze landed on a chest in the corner. "Maybe in there?"

She knelt, unlocked it, and the lid groaned open. Sebastian realized at once it wasn't ordinary. An enchanted bottomless extension, easily capable of swallowing mountains of parchment. Lyra leaned in, muttering, vanishing up to her waist.

Sebastian glanced at Ominis. "Should she be doing that?"

"She usually knows what she's doing," Ominis said dryly, though his wand was pointed at her ankles, ready to drag her back if needed.

"I found them!" her voice echoed, muffled from inside. "But they're at the bottom. Can one of you—oh!"

Her hand shot out, catching Sebastian's sleeve. He barely had time to yelp before she dragged him off-balance, straight into the chest.

And because fate was cruel, Ominis lunged to catch them both. And toppled in as well.

The fall was short. The landing catastrophic.

Sebastian hit the ground, the breath knocked clean from his lungs. And then something warm and solid collapsed across his chest.

Lyra.

Her hair tickled his cheek, her nose a breath from his own, her knee lodged between his thighs in the most compromising position imaginable.

On the other side, Ominis groaned, Lyra's bottom pushed firmly against his lap.

Sebastian froze, heart hammering like a rogue Bludger. Every nerve screamed awareness. Her warmth, her scent, the faint hitch of her breath as she tried to shift without touching anything else.

The light from Ronen's office seemed impossibly far above. Turns out the bottom of a bottomless chest was nothing more than a cramped little alcove. He dared not move. Because even the smallest tilt smushed his face into hers.

"Oh no," Lyra groaned against his collar. "That was not the plan."

"You're—on—me—" Ominis ground out, voice tight, unfamiliar. Sebastian's stomach dropped.

Did he mean his—?

"I'm trying to move!" Lyra hissed, bracing her hands on Sebastian's chest. Her hair brushed his lips, and he nearly lost all sense.

"Okay, nobody move. I'm going to try and adjust," she rasped, voice strangled.

Which, of course, made everything worse.

She wriggled, trying to free herself. Sebastian's breath stuttered as her chest pressed against his, the heat of her body unbearable. Then suddenly, Ominis sucked in a sharp breath and went rigid.

"Sorry, Ominis," Lyra muttered, mortified. She twisted, and Sebastian's brain promptly malfunctioned.

Did she just slide her rear against his—?

"HEY! What's going on over there?!" The words burst out before he could stop them.

But as he jolted, Lyra lost her balance, and collapsed forward.

Straight into Sebastian's lap.

Her face . . . her mouth . . . landed squarely against his crotch.

Time. Stopped.

Sebastian's mind went blank except for one howling refrain:

OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO.

Lyra made a strangled noise, her words muffled in his trousers. "Mmf—mm—mmf—!"

Sebastian's entire body locked in panic.

Don't react. Don't move. For love of all things holy, don't you dare move.

He squeezed his eyes shut, heat rushing through him. His face, chest, lower, everywhere.

Think about dungbombs. Peeves. Anything but—

"Mmf—mmmove your leg—" Lyra's muffled order vibrated through him. Every shift of her weight was torture.

Finally, mercifully, she scrambled upright, scarlet from hairline to chin. She refused to meet his gaze.

Sebastian sat bolt-straight, lungs burning, willing his pulse to steady. He couldn't look at her either.

Ominis cleared his throat sharply. Merlin, he didn't even want to think about what Ominis was feeling over on his end. "We need to get out. Now."

"Agreed," Sebastian croaked, voice embarrassingly high.

After several graceless scrambles—elbows, knees, muttered curses—they managed to orient themselves enough for Ominis to reach his wand and cast. With a lurch, the three of them tumbled out of the chest in a heap on Ronen's office floor.

Cool air rushed against Sebastian's overheated skin. He staggered upright, brushing dust from his robes, smoothing his trousers uselessly as if that could erase the memory. Lyra stood a few paces away, tugging at her sleeves, her ears glowing glowing scarlet.

Ominis rose with his usual dignity, though the stiffness in his posture betrayed him. He didn't turn his face toward either of them.

The silence was unbearable.

Sebastian cleared his throat. "Well. That was . . . interesting."

Lyra made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "If interesting means horrifically embarrassing, then yes."

Her eyes flicked to his for the briefest second before darting away.

Sebastian's stomach twisted. He wanted to joke, to reassure her, to undo the mortification. But Ominis's presence loomed between them, immovable.

So he said nothing.

Lyra, cheeks still blazing, returned to the chest, summoned the game pieces with the flick of her wand, and shut the lid with a deliberate thud. She handed them each a bag without a word.

They descended the stairs.

"Marvelous!" Ronen beamed as they emerged. "You've found them, yes? Splendid. Let's begin."

And that was that.

They drifted through the rest of their classes in brittle silence. Lyra hugged her books to her chest like a shield. Sebastian shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, trying and failing to shake the memory.

Every blink replayed it: her chest against him, her breath on his skin, her mouth on his trousers, her soft apology to Ominis.

And beneath it all, the deal pulsed like an open wound.

He couldn't have her. He had promised. And neither could Ominis.

So why, in Merlin's name—even if it meant trapping them in a chest—did it feel like the universe was conspiring to shove them together anyway?

Chapter Text

Ominis Gaunt had always prided himself on restraint. It had been beaten into him as a child. An art as much as a necessity. Restraint meant survival in the Gaunt household. Never flinch, never reveal, never allow the tremor beneath the skin to show.

But restraint had not prepared him for Lyra's soft weight settling onto his lap. Nor the mortifying rush of heat that had consumed him when she shifted. Utterly aware of what she'd done, pressing against him in a way that left no question of how his body responded.

He could still feel it. Even now, the next morning, stiff-backed in the Slytherin common room with a book open in his hands, pretending to read. The memory clung to him like an enchantment. Her breaths replayed in quiet moments, her warmth branded itself into his muscles, the echo of her touch so vidid his own skin seemed to betray him.

And then Sebastian's bark. Sharp, startled, almost panicked: "HEY! What's going on over there?!" That single outburst had shattered the spell, jolting them both. Lyra tumbling away, straight into Sebastian. Ominis hadn't needed eyes to know how that must have looked: her face buried against his best friend's lap, Sebastian frozen in horrified silence, desperate not to react.

He'd almost laughed at the absurdity. Almost. But jealousy had burned through him too quickly, raw and sour, leaving nothing to laugh at. Not when Lyra had squirmed and wriggled in her flustered attempt to detach herself from Sebastian's crotch.

So Ominis did what he always did. He retreated.

At breakfast, he became quieter, slipping away before conversations could draw him in. He angled his wand toward the floor, head tilted as though listening, though in truth he tried not to. Lyra's laugh, Sebastian's voice. They set his nerves thrumming in ways he did not dare name.

Not even to himself.

A soft rustle of parchment pulled him back. An owl had delivered a letter earlier that morning, one he hadn't yet opened. The seal was familiar. Anne's.

She wrote rarely, and only ever to him. Little reassurances scrawled in her careful, trembling hand: alive, managing, no need for worry. Always meant for him to carry, never Sebastian.

Ominis had waited until he was alone in his dormitory to open it, out of respect to Sebastian. He'd broken the wax with painstaking care, tracing the ink with his wand, murmuring the words silently in his mind.

Anne's writing was neat, but the shakiness betrayed her.

The curse is worsening. I ache more often than not, though London keeps me entertained. I've taken up reading again. You'd laugh. Some of the romances are dreadful. But it passes the time. Please do not tell Sebastian. I don't want his guilt. Only that he knows I'm living, in my own way. Thank you, Ominis. Take care of my brother for me.

His chest had constricted at every line. He'd folded the letter with reverence, as though even the smallest crease might wound her further. Anne was suffering. Quietly, stubbornly, alone. And still, she refused Sebastian.

And he understood. That was the cruelest part.

Now, back in the common room, he closed the book he hadn't read a single word of. His chair scraped against stone as he stood abruptly. He needed air.

The corridors welcomed him with cool silence, the pulse of his wand against the flagstones keeping rhythm with his steps, soothing him. He was halfway to the courtyard when a voice cut through his thoughts.

"Ominis!"

Poppy Sweeting. Breathless, cheerful as ever.

He inclined his head politely. "Poppy. Out terrorizing poachers again?"

She laughed, light and bright as birdsong. "Not today. I was actually on my way to Lyra, but you'll do."

He arched a brow. "How flattering."

They fell into step, Poppy chattering about a kneazle rescue outside Hogsmeade. But Ominis's mind drifted elsewhere, heavy with thoughts he could not share. Naturally, Poppy noticed. She always noticed.

"You're quieter than usual," she said. Then, too casually: "This about that little tumble?"

Ominis froze mid-step. "What?"

Her grin was audible. "The chest. Lyra told me. Said it was a bit of a . . . squeeze."

Heat crept up his throat. "That's an understatement."

Poppy nudged his arm. "And? You're blushing."

"I most certainly am not."

"You are." Her giggle was merciless. "There's no shame in it, Ominis. Anyone would blush after getting a bit too . . . close . . . with their best friend."

"That's precisely why it was mortifying," he snapped before he could stop himself. "She is my best friend."

"Mmhm," Poppy replied, maddeningly nonchalant.

Ominis scowled. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Poppy."

"Ominis."

He turned sharply toward her. "Just say it."

She gave him that infuriatingly sweet tone. "You like her."

"I do not." The words were too sharp, too fast. He regretted them instantly.

Poppy only hummed knowingly. "You're loyal. I'll give you that. You and Sebastian, her two knights in shining armor. But Ominis . . . just because you call it friendship doesn't mean that's all it is."

Her words sank deep, unwanted but true.

Before he could respond, they reached the library.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Poppy said brightly.

Lyra's voice carried toward them, warm, familiar, devastating. "Poppy! You're late."

Ominis's pulse stuttered. It always did when she spoke. His blood quickened, every sense sharpened.

"Sorry!" Poppy sang, bounding ahead. "But I just remembered I promised Howin I'd help with the owls. Can't stay."

"But the Charms essay—" Lyra began.

"Ominis could help you," Poppy interrupted. "He's brilliant at Charms."

Ominis exhaled though his nose. Subtle as a Bludger, that one.

Lyra faltered. "Oh, well—sure. You did save me on that History of Magic exam. What do you say?"

There was no refusing her. Not with that note of hope in her voice. He inclined his head. "Of course. Just give me a moment to fetch my notes."

He turned toward the dungeons, ignoring the flutter in his chest. Poppy's matchmaking was obvious. And yet . . . he didn't mind. Not even as he heard Lyra's playful chastising trail after him:

"Poppy! What are you scheming?"

Yes. Lyra absolutely knew as well.

And still, she'd agreed.

In the common room, Ominis retrieved his Charms text. He almost left at once. But paused when his wand drew him toward Sebastian's corner. His best friend sat in silence, a book forgotten in his lap.

Ominis hesitated, Anne's folded letter weighing in his pocket. Then he stepped forward.

Sebastian looked up. "Ominis. What is it?"

Ominis extended the parchment. "From Anne."

Sebastian's breath hitched. He took it carefully, as though it might vanish. He knew Anne wrote to Ominis on occasion. Resented it, even. But any scrap of her words gave him both relief and torment. His voice was rough when he asked, "How is she?"

"As expected. She asked me not to share, but . . ." Ominis softened. "I thought you'd want to read it. To know she's . . . managing."

Silence stretched. Ominis could hear the swallow, the tightness in Sebastian's throat. When his friend finally spoke, it was low, ragged. "Thank you."

Ominis inclined his head, then turned before the weight between them grew too heavy.

Lyra was waiting for him at the library doors. She brightened at his return. "I thought you'd changed your mind for a second."

"Tempting," he murmured dryly, "though it seems I've developed a habit of helping you study for assignments I've already finished."

Her laugh was soft, lilting, too easy to memorize. And just like that, Ominis felt his careful restraint unravel all over again.

Chapter Text

Sebastian sat motionless on the edge of his bed, Anne's letter trembling in his hands. His eyes had run over the same line half a dozen times, but the words refused to settle. Instead, they carved themselves into him, a dull blade dragged mercilessly across his ribs.

The curse is worsening.

That was all she'd written. No elaborate details. No plea for sympathy. Just plain, merciless truth, scrawled in his sister's steady but trembling hand. Anne had never been one for dramatics, but the simplicity gutted him all the more.

He pressed his thumb against the ink, as if he might smudge the words away.

Worsening.

The curse had already stolen so much: her laughter, her lightness, the easy way she used to look at him without bitterness. Now it was consuming her body piece by piece. And yet she'd written that she was enjoying her life in London, as if that could soften the fact that she hadn't spoken to him directly in months.

Sebastian dragged a hand over his face, breath muffled against his palm. He could almost hear her voice. Final, unforgiving, edged with the disappointment she'd made apparent after Feldcroft.

But it wasn't only Anne's disappointment gnawing at him.

It was Ominis's hand, slipping the letter into his palm earlier with his usual composed detachment. No words of comfort. No condemnation. Just: I though you'd want to read it. Then he'd walked off. Straight to Lyra, no doubt.

Sebastian's jaw clenched.

Of course he had.

He could see it perfectly: Ominis sitting with her in the library or the Undercroft, his voice calm and wry, teasing her about her attention span. Lyra laughing, brushing her hair behind her ear, leaning too close as she glanced over his notes. Tilting her head, dark eyes glinting, every detail of her expression caught and memorized by Ominis without needing sight. He always did.

Sebastian's chest tightened.

It wasn't fair.

None of it was bloody fair.

Anne's curse. His uncle's death. The weight of every mistake that still coiled like a noose around his throat at night. He'd thought—naively, perhaps—that coming back to Hogwarts would mean a reprieve. A chance at something ordinary. To rebuild. Anne might never forgive him, but Lyra and Ominis had. Slowly, painfully.

But every corner of this castle whispered of what he'd lost. Of what he wasn't allowed to want.

Because he wanted Lyra.

Merlin help him, he wanted her.

He always had.

Anne had teased him about it once, back before everything curdled. "You're hopeless, Sebastian. If you don't tell her, someone else will." She'd seen it the instant he'd brought Lyra to Feldcroft, her knowing smirk sparking even through pain.

But Sebastian had never told her. He'd buried it. Buried it beneath guilt, beneath Anne's curse, beneath the endless hunt for a cure.

And now? Now it was buried under the deal. Because Ominis felt the same. His best friend. His brother in all but name. And Sebastian could feel him. Feel him stepping into the space Sebastian had longed to claim but couldn't. Not without betraying the fragile bond between them.

The thought cracked something in him.

His breathing turned shallow.

Anne. Ominis. Solomon. The curse. The way Lyra's smile used to linger on him at breakfast—warm, unguarded—before she turned and offered the same to Ominis.

Sebastian's vision blurred. Thoughts collided, tangled, dissolved into static.

He was suffocating.

His heart thundered, deafening in his ears, as though it meant to shatter his ribcage. The letter slipped from his fingers, forgotten, his hands gripping the sheets in a desperate attempt to anchor himself. But the dormitory walls pressed closer, the air thinning, his chest refusing to expand.

He bent forward, elbows to his knees, clutching fistfuls of his hair.

Stop. Stop thinking. Stop—

But he couldn't.

He lurched to his feet, stumbling for the door, fumbling the handle. The common room spun as he blundered through, then the stairs, each step ragged, uneven. He had to get out. Now.

Cool air struck him as the door slithered open. But even the corridor seemed to close in, the stones pressing nearer, merciless.

Useless. He was useless.

Anne's face flickered before him, the moment she'd turned away forever. Solomon's body crumpling under the force of his curse. Lyra's lips parting in laughter meant for someone else.

Poison. Everything he touched rotted.

His hand scraped against stone as his knees buckled. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest convulsing, a raw sound ripping from his throat.

"Sebastian?"

The voice was soft, uncertain. Then again, firmer:

"Sebastian."

His head jerked up, startled. His eyes were wet, unfocused, but the girl's expression shifted at once from confusion to alarm.

She crossed the corridor in a heartbeat, dropping to her knees before him.

"Hey, hey—look at me." Her hands framed his face, palms cool against his burning skin. "You're all right. You're all right, I've got you."

Her touch burned through the haze.

He tried to turn away, ashamed, but she wouldn't let him. Her thumbs brushed across his cheekbones, steadying him. Her gaze locked onto his, unwavering. And Sebastian saw her properly then. The most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Midnight-dark hair, porcelain skin, sharp cheekbones, lips soft enough to undo him completely.

Lyra.

"Breathe with me," she whispered. She inhaled slowly, exaggerating the rhythm, chest rising and falling in deliberate cadence until he matched her. Shaky, uneven at first, then steadier.

"That's it. Good." Her fingers slid through his hair, gently brushing locks from his forehead, anchoring him to her. "You're safe. You're not alone."

The words shattered something in him. His shoulders sagged, a sob breaking free as he collapsed against her. She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, holding him tight, rocking gently as though he were something fragile.

She smelled of parchment and lavender. Her warmth seeped into him, thawing the ice in his lungs.

"I—" His voice cracked against her collar. "I'm sorry, Lyra."

"No." Her hand stroked the back of his head, firm, soothing. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all."

He clutched at her like a drowning man, fingers fisting in her robes. The storm inside him raged still. Guilt, grief, longing. But for the first time in months, there was something else. A flicker of calm. Fragile, but real. Born from her touch.

Time blurred. Slowly, his breathing steadied. His heart eased back into rhythm.

When he finally drew away, his face was damp, his expression raw. Lyra didn't flinch. She cupped his cheek again, thumb brushing a tear away.

"Better?" she asked softly.

He swallowed, nodding. Words stuck thick in his throat.

"What happened?" Her voice was gentle.

Sebastian dragged in a shaky breath. "I—uh, got a letter from Anne. Well, Ominis did. She said her curse is worsening, but she's doing fine in London."

Lyra only listened, patient, steady.

"I started thinking about . . . all that. Among other things." His eyes darted away, sheepish. "You know what I mean. And I just . . . spiraled."

Her gaze softened. "I understand. I'm sorry."

And in her eyes, he saw no accusation. No disgust. Just sincerity. Compassion.

For one reckless moment, Sebastian thought about leaning in. About claiming the comfort of her lips, the solace she had given him. About making her his.

But the deal rang in his ears. Ominis's voice. Anne's. His own failures.

He couldn't.

So instead he rasped, "Thank you."

Her mouth tilted in a faint smile that made his chest ache.

"Always."

She rose, tugging him gently up with her. "Come on. Let's get you back to the common room."

And though he hated himself for it, Sebastian let her guide him. Her hand in his, her presence steady as stone. As though she were the only thing keeping him from shattering entirely.

Chapter Text

Ominis sat stiffly at his desk in Professor Sharp's classroom, quill unmoving over the parchment before him. The simmering scent of potions—sharp, bitter, medicinal—only sharpened the ache already lodged behind his temples. He had long since grown used to Sharp's clipped instructions, the scrape of glass against stone, the hiss and bubble of cauldrons. But today, none of it seemed to reach him. His thoughts kept drifting, snagging always on the same name.

Lyra.

He tilted his head, listening, searching for her in the familiar noises of the room. The stools creaked as students shifted. Cauldrons spat. Beside him, Sebastian drummed his fingers in an impatient rhythm, as though barely keeping himself intact. But the space between them—where Lyra usually sat—remained tellingly, unforgivably silent.

"She wasn't at breakfast," Sebastian muttered, voice clipped, taut. "And now this."

"Perhaps she overslept." Ominis kept his tone measured.

"She doesn't oversleep." Sebastian's voice cracked before sharpening into its familiar edge. "Not like this. Maybe she's just avoiding classes. That Charms essay was due today. She was fretting over it yesterday. Maybe she's just buying herself an extra day."

"No," Ominis said quietly. "She finished it. I helped her in the library last night."

He half-expected the admission to ignite Sebastian's jealousy, that sharp flare of possessiveness Ominis had come to anticipate. But instead, Sebastian only fell silent, his worry deepening.

And Ominis's worry deepened too. Lyra wasn't one to vanish without a word. Her absence pressed against him like a stone in his shoe: small, but impossible to ignore. He set down his quill, folding his hands in his lap, forcing steadiness into himself. Sebastian was already fraying beside him. One of them had to remain calm.

The class dragged on, every minute a dull blade scraping raw at his nerves. When Sharp finally dismissed them, Ominis rose at once, wand in hand, already prepared to track Lyra down. He had taken barely two steps before a voice cut across the air like a lash.

"Well, isn't this interesting?"

Nellie Oggspire.

Ominis stilled. He didn't need eyes to see her. He pictured her easily: the Gryffindor girl with a tongue as sharp as her laugh, striding forward with all the self-importance of someone who thought the castle itself bent to her whims. The same girl Sebastian had drunkenly kissed earlier in the year. In front of Lyra. Her footsteps clicked too quickly against the flagstones. She was brimming with something, and it wasn't kindness.

"Where's your little shadow, Sallow?" she sneered.

Sebastian turned on her at once, irritation already burning through his voice. "Not now, Nellie—"

But she didn't falter. She never did. "Oh, I think now is perfect. Care to explain what you were doing last night? With her?"

Ominis's stomach knotted. His grip on his wand tightened.

Did something happen between Sebastian and Lyra? Had he broken their deal?

"What's she talking about, Sebastian?" Ominis asked, his voice low, dangerous in its calm.

Nellie laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Don't play innocent, Gaunt. We saw her. Poor little, weepy Sebastian Sallow, and her stroking and holding him. Like she hadn't seen him snogging me senseless a month ago."

Sebastian flinched. Ominis felt it ripple through the air, the sharp intake of breath, the hesitation that throbbed louder than words.

"Careful," Sebastian said, voice tight as wire.

But Ominis wasn't listening to Sebastian anymore. He was listening to what Nellie hadn't said. We saw her. We. That meant more than Nellie. An audience. Her snickering friends, no doubt. If she was confronting Sebastian here, it wasn't only out of spite and jealousy. It was because she had leverage.

"What did you do, Nellie?" Ominis demanded.

The silence stretched, taut. Then came the scrape of her shoe against stone and a huff of feigned exasperation. "Locked her up, didn't we? Thought she could use a lesson. Can't have her running about, stealing what isn't hers."

Ominis's heart lurched violently.

"You what?" His composure cracked, his voice rising in a way that made the corridor still around them. "Where is she?"

Nellie clicked her tongue. "Oh, don't get your robes in a twist. She's fine. Closet in the east wing, that's all. Perfectly safe. Unless no one finds her for a while." A pause, smug. "It's enchanted. You'll need this."

Metal jingled. A key dangled mockingly in the air.

"Give it to me." Sebastian's fury broke through his voice.

"Oh, it's not that simple." Her tone dripped venom. "Tell you what—sit down with me, just the two of us, and maybe I'll hand it over. If you're a good boy."

Something inside Ominis snapped. He moved without thought, reaching toward the sound of her voice. His hand closed around her wrist, sharp and certain. Her startled breath told him he'd alarmed her. He leaned in, his restraint stripped bare.

"You will give us that key," he whispered, steel grinding against stone in his voice. "Now."

For once, Nellie faltered. The key clinked against his palm a heartbeat later. She wrenched free, muttered a curse, and stalked off with her gaggle of giggling friends.

The corridor was silent save for Sebastian's ragged breathing.

"Bloody hell," Sebastian muttered. "She—Merlin, Ominis—Lyra."

Ominis didn't waste words. He pocketed the key, set his wand firmly before him, and started forward. "Come on."

The east wing was quiet, their footsteps echoing. Sebastian strode a half-step ahead, nerves spilling into every movement.

"What in Merlin's name was Nellie talking about?" Ominis demanded. "Last night?"

Sebastian's breath hitched. "I—I had a moment. After Anne's letter. Lyra just . . . helped me calm down, that's all."

Ominis didn't want to know how. Didn't want to picture her hand steadying his. Didn't want to imagine her holding him.

Instead, he pressed on. They tried every closet, hearts hammering faster with each failed attempt. Until at last, near the end of the corridor, Ominis heard it: a faint thud, a muffled voice.

Lyra.

His chest loosened, relief staggering him. "Lyra?"

A pause. Then her voice, tight but okay. "Ominis?"

"We're here," he said, nearly breathless. "Hold on."

"Ominis! Get me out! My spells are useless!"

He fit the key into the lock. It turned with grudging snap, and the door swung open.

She tumbled forward in a rush of air and indignation. "Ominis!"

He caught her instinctively as she collapsed into his arms, steadying her. Her hand was cool, trembling faintly where she gripped him. And then—too quickly—she pulled away, rounding on Sebastian.

And shoved him hard in the chest.

"This is your fault!"

Sebastian froze. "What?"

Her anger crackled, sharp enough to sting the air. "Nellie and her little friends saw us last night! If you hadn't gone and kissed her, none of this would've happened! But you just had to make everything complicated, didn't you?"

Sebastian stammered, words tripping uselessly. "Lyra, I—"

"Save it."

The corridor went taut with silence.

Then she turned toward Ominis. Her voice softened, threaded with the tremor relief. "Thank you. For finding me."

His throat tightened. "Always."

For a moment, she lingered close. Her hand grazing his as though she hadn't meant to. The warmth of her touch burned through him.

He let himself place a hand gently on her shoulder, steering her away. "Come on. Let's get you back."

Beside them, Sebastian dragged in a sharp breath, as though struck.

And Ominis—despite loyalty, despite the deal—kept guiding Lyra forward.

Sebastian did not follow.

Chapter Text

Sebastian stared at the half-finished note, ink blotting where his quill had faltered. Words. They never seemed enough.

Lyra—

Too familiar. He scratched it out immediately, jaw tight. Too cold? Too desperate? Merlin, it's just her name. And yet it felt harder than any cursed relic he had ever touched. Harder than the guilt that dogged him through every sleepless night. He wanted—no, needed—to say so much. But his hand shook like a first-year's at their Sorting.

At last, he forced the quill to move again.

Meet me by the Clock Tower fountain after supper. I owe you an apology. —Sebastian

Plain. Pathetic in its brevity. But better that than never sending it at all. He folded the parchment, slid it beneath the edge of her plate at dinner, and left before she and Ominis arrived at their usual spot.

The night air was sharp when Sebastian reached the courtyard, his breath fogging faintly. Students drifted past in clusters, their laughter echoing beneath the stone arches, but he stood apart by the fountain, nerves gnawing at him.

Would she come?

He raked a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. He'd never cared what people thought of him before. Not really. After years of detentions, teachers whispering "troublemaker", he'd grown thick-skinned. But Lyra's opinion had always mattered. And now he'd gone and ruined it. Again.

Footsteps echoed across the flagstones. His head snapped up, hope flaring.

Lyra stepped out of the shadows, her dark hair catching in the torchlight, her eyes unreadable as they settled on him. She didn't hesitate, didn't soften. She stopped in front of him, arms crossed, as though daring him to speak.

"You came," he breathed.

"Your note said you owed me an apology." Her voice was cool, clipped. "I'm here to collect."

The tone cut deeper than any hex, but Sebastian forced himself to nod. "I'm sorry, Lyra. About Nellie. About the closet. About . . . everything. None of it should've touched you. That's on me."

Her brow arched. "You're right about that."

The bluntness stung, but he pressed on. "I don't even know why Nellie was jealous. It's not like I ever encouraged her. Not really. Well, except for . . ." He trailed off, grimacing.

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "You haven't?"

"No," Sebastian said quickly, firmly. "Not at all. I don't like Nellie in the slightest."

"Then perhaps you should think about the consequences before you start toying with people."

"I know." His voice cracked, raw with urgency. "I know it was stupid. I take full responsibility. I just—" He dragged a hand through his hair again. "I hate that you were dragged into it. I hate that I hurt you."

"I'm not hurt," she said flatly, turning her head aside.

The lie was obvious, and it burned. She was hurt—when she'd seen him with Nellie, when she'd been locked in that damned closet. But Sebastian held his tongue. If she needed pride, he'd give her pride.

Desperate, he scrambled for something, anything, that might pull her gaze back to him. "I know I can't undo what happened, but . . . I do have something for you. Your birthday gift. Months late, I know. But—things kept getting in the way."

That caught her. She looked back at him, suspicion softening into faint curiosity. Sebastian sat on the fountain's ledge, pulling his satchel into his lap. Lyra followed, folding her legs beneath her, waiting.

He drew out a worn, leather-bound journal.

Her eyes flicked down. "A . . . book?"

"Not just any book." His throat tightened as he set it gently in her hands. "It belonged to Professor Fig."

Her head snapped up, breath catching. "What?"

"I used to sneak into his office sometimes," Sebastian admitted, cheeks heating. "Back when Anne was all I could think about, I thought maybe he had some hidden theory, some fragment of magic that could cure her. He was the Magical Theory professor, after all. Most of it was useless. But then—this."

He nodded toward the journal. "I only opened it once. But it wasn't about curses or healing. It was about you."

Her lips parted. Shock widened her eyes.

"He wrote about Ancient Magic. About you. Page after page, filled with notes. But not just notes, Lyra. He wrote about you like you were . . . like you were the brightest witch he'd ever known. 'Endlessly enduring.' 'Full of potential.' Merlin, he thought the world of you."

Her fingers trembled against the leather. She opened the journal slowly, reverently, eyes darting across familiar ink.

Sebastian knew what Professor Fig had meant to her. To be all alone in this world, then to lose him so soon after finding someone who felt like family . . . he couldn't imagine.

A choked laugh broke from her. "He really wrote this? About me?"

"He did." Sebastian's smile was small, earnest. "I thought you should have it. He loved you, Lyra. You mattered to him."

Her eyes glistened as she pressed the book to her chest. "He was . . . the only one who ever felt like family," she whispered. "Losing him—" She shook her head, voice breaking. "Thank you, Sebastian. This means more than I can say."

For a moment, neither of them moved. He simply watched her: luminous in the starlight, her hair spilling loose around her face, fragile and fierce all at once. Beautiful. Achingly so. But more than that—she was Lyra. His best friend. His undoing.

Then she looked up at him, and something shifted.

"Well," she teased softly, "I suppose you can be forgiven."

Sebastian huffed out a laugh, relief breaking through his chest.

"I know you didn't mean for that Nellie stuff to happen," she went on, hesitating. "And . . . I'm sorry I got so angry."

"No. Don't apologize. I deserved it."

She tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Well regardless, you're forgiven. Plus"—she held up the journal—"you always know exactly how to make it up to me when it matters."

Sebastian started saying something, but stopped short when her arms slipped around his shoulders. She hugged him. Easily, unguarded. Her chin rested on his shoulder, and her smirk was all mischief.

Sebastian looked down at her and laughed, his hands finding hers where they looped across him. Merlin, the sight of her. Her warmth pressed close, her eyes lit only for him.

They stayed that way, the courtyard emptying around them, the fountain's trickle and the Clock Tower's pendulum the only sounds. Eventually, his head dipped to rest on hers.

This. This was how it should be. Forever. Just them.

When Lyra finally lifted her head, she was closer. So close it was like the chest again. Nose to nose, breath mingling.

His pulse stuttered.

Then stuttered again when he watched her eyes dip to his mouth. Her hand slid against his chest. Heat shot through him.

"Lyra," he whispered, torn.

She didn't wait. She leaned in, lips brushing his. Tentative, searching.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Desire roared in him, fierce and consuming. He wanted this. He had always wanted this. But Ominis's voice struck like lightning. The deal. The promise.

Sebastian jerked back, hands braced on her shoulders. "No. I—I can't."

Her eyes widened, hurt slicing deep. "Can't?"

"I want to—Merlin, I want to—but Ominis—"

"Ominis?" she snapped, disbelief flashing sharp. "You're turning me away because of him? What does Ominis have to do with this?"

He flinched, guilt crashing. He couldn't betray Ominis. He couldn't tell her about the deal either.

Her face hardened, eyes glittering with humiliation. "Unbelievable. You give me Fig's journal, flirt with me all year, and then shove me aside like I'm some burden you can't decide what to do with."

"That's not—"

"No, Sebastian." Her voice cracked. "I'm done being in the middle of your mess. I'm done being someone you only want when it suits you. I'm done."

She rose, clutching the journal, and stormed off across the courtyard.

"Lyra!" His voice broke, desperate, raw. She didn't stop.

He swore violently, heart pounding. He'd crushed the moment, broken her, all for a promise he wasn't even sure he could keep.

Because the truth? He needed her like air. Denying it had become unbearable.

Sebastian bolted after her, boots hammering the stone. The Clock Tower pendulum whooshed past, loud in the night.

"Lyra, wait!"

She ignored him, quickening her pace, hair streaming behind her. He caught her wrist, spun her back.

"Don't—" she began, fury blazing.

But Sebastian didn't let her finish. His hands cupped her face, unflinchingly, and he crushed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was nothing like her tentative brush before. This was desperate, hungry. Every unspoken confession tearing loose in the space of a breath. Lyra stiffened, then melted, the journal slipping to the stones as her arms curled around his neck.

All the restraint, all the denial, shattered.

Sebastian clung to her, kissing her like he was drowning, like she was the only thing that could save him.

And maybe she was.

When they broke apart at last, breathless, his forehead rested against hers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I want you, Lyra. More than anything. More than anything."

Her answering smile was trembling, fragile. But it was real.

And for the first time in months, Sebastian dared to believe he hadn't lost everything after all.

Chapter Text

Morning crept into the Slytherin common room on slow feet. Ominis Gaunt sat in his usual armchair near the hearth, the steady crackle of firewood playing against the muffled clink of teacups on wood. Around him, his housemates murmured about essays and gossip, their voices blending into a soft current of noise. But none of it touched him.

Something was wrong.

He'd felt it the moment Sebastian had entered the common room the night before. Ominis could always track him. He knew him better than anyone. The confident stride, the impatient clack of boots, the voice that carried too easily through the chamber. But last night, Sebastian's steps had faltered. There'd been a hesitation in him, a weight Ominis couldn't name but could feel pressing against the air like a storm front.

By breakfast, his suspicions had sharpened into certainty. Lyra was off as well. Quieter than usual, her playful remarks clipped short, her laughter stifled into polite hums. Even the cadence of her voice carried strain, a bright veneer stretched thin over something fragile.

The air between them buzzed with something new. Something Ominis didn't need eyes to perceive.

Sebastian and Lyra sat together as always. Close, but not too close, as though even the space between them had been measured. Yet every word carried a tremor, every silence a hum of unspoken confession. When Lyra spoke, Sebastian listened too intently. When Sebastian reached for toast, he wordlessly slid an extra piece onto her plate.

It grated. Every flicker of hesitation, every hushed laugh. It all scraped across Ominis's nerves like broken glass.

By mid-morning, he could endure it no longer.

He cornered Sebastian after Charms, when Lyra had gone ahead to fetch her books. The corridor was mercifully empty, tapestries whispering as the castle breathed around them. Ominis's arms crossed tight over his chest, the heat of his fury carrying him forward.

"All right," he said flatly. "What happened?"

Sebastian halted. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." Ominis tilted his head, listening for the lie. "You and Lyra. Something's shifted. I can hear it in every word you exchange. Tell me I'm wrong."

A heartbeat of silence stretched. And then Sebastian exhaled sharply, deflating. "Ominis . . ."

That was answer enough. Ice sluiced down Ominis's spine.

"You didn't." His voice sharpened.

Sebastian muttered something under his breath before blurting, "She kissed me. Well—I guess I kissed her too. After."

The world tilted. Ominis's stomach lurched, throat tightening until it was almost impossible to breath.

"You broke the deal," he whispered.

Sebastian's voice was ragged. "I didn't mean to. It just—happened. I couldn't stop myself."

"You couldn't stop yourself," Ominis repeated, incredulous. "And I'm meant to accept that? Merlin, Sebastian, that was the one promise we made. The one safeguard to keep us from this." His hand trembled as he gestured vaguely between them. "And you shattered it in a single night."

Sebastian stepped closer, urgency burning through his voice. "I didn't plan it. I swear. But Ominis—she wanted it too. I—"

"Don't," Ominis snapped, the word cracking like a whip. "Don't you dare justify it by dragging her into this."

Sebastian faltered.

Ominis's breath came sharp, fury pounding behind his temples. "What makes you think you're more deserving than I am? Because you've lost more? Because your reckless schemes make you some tragic hero?"

Sebastian's voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Because she wants me, Ominis. She chose me. Even Anne saw it. She used to tell me to make a move. She even said once—Lyra and I were meant to be."

The words cut deeper than any blade. For a moment Ominis couldn't breath.

Anne. A sister in every way but blood. Anne, who had once been his anchor too. Anne, who now lay dying in London, far from the boy who could not stop breaking things in his desperation to fix them. And she had sided with Sebastian.

Something inside him snapped.

"Oh?" His tone dripped venom. "The sister who can't even face you after you killed your uncle? The sister who is quietly wasting away while you strut around Hogwarts chasing the one person willing to ignore the fact that you're a monster?"

The words landed like a slap. Silence crashed down.

Sebastian reeled, breath ragged. Fury radiated from him, hot enough to scorch. "That's low."

"Yes," Ominis said bitterly. "It is."

The corridor shrank around them, pressing their rage and hurt into something sharp enough to bleed. Ominis's chest ached; his throat burned. He wanted to take his words back. To wound less deeply. But he couldn't. The betrayal was too consuming.

At last, Sebastian whispered, "Maybe we were never really friends, if this is what it comes to."

Ominis opened his mouth, but no answer came. Perhaps Sebastian was right.

He turned away before his voice could crack. "Stay away from me."

And he walked. Each step echoed hollowly, the sound of something splintering beyond repair.

The rest of the day blurred into misery. Ominis withdrew, retreating from every corner that had once been theirs. He avoided the Undercroft, avoided Sebastian, avoided even the spaces where Lyra's laughter might linger. Her voice, once his anchor, now twisted like a knife.

How could she have chosen him?

And the worst part, the part that hollowed him, was knowing Sebastian hadn't lied. She had kissed him first. Ominis had heard it in his voice.

It made breakfast that morning ache with hindsight: that careful brightness of Lyra's teasing, the plastered-on cheer of her laughter, the warmth she tried to spread as if nothing had changed . . . all while she had already chosen Sebastian.

The boy she wanted.

The boy she'd chosen.

Over him.

So he shut them both out. Walled himself off with silence and sharpness, though it left him colder than ever.

The Slytherin common room, once his refuge, offered no comfort. The fire's warmth was unreachable. Laughter in the corridors grated like salt in a wound. Ominis drifted through the day like a ghost. Not haunted by the darkness of his bloodline, but by the ruin of the only friendship he had ever truly cherished, and the loss of the only girl he had ever dared to want.

And somewhere deep inside, the whisper festered, relentless as a curse:

She kissed him.

She kissed him.

She kissed him.

Chapter Text

The world had tilted.

Not like it had last year, when his uncle's body crumpled at his feet and Anne's voice hardened into something cold and final. That tilt had left him reeling, floundering in a darkness he hadn't known how to escape.

No. This was different.

Because when Lyra kissed him, when she chose him, the ground didn't lurch. It steadied.

The next twenty-four hours blurred like a dream. Sebastian caught himself smiling until his cheeks ached, caught himself reaching for her hand without realizing. In the Undercroft, they pressed close in the shadows, brushing fingers as if it had always been their rhythm. He kissed her like he'd been waiting his whole life, and maybe he had.

She laughed into his mouth. Teased him about the way his hair refused to behave when she ran her hands through it. Tried to scold him for neglecting his essay, only to let him distract her moments later.

And he couldn't get enough.

It was intoxicating. The heat of her, the rush that lit in his chest every time their eyes met across a classroom. For once, the world wasn't weighted with guilt and secrets. It was alive. Charged. Electric.

Only one thing soured it.

Ominis.

Sebastian shoved the thought down again and again. He refused to let it spoil this. Not now, not when everything else finally felt right.

But Lyra noticed. Of course she noticed.

At breakfast the next morning, Ominis wasn't in his usual place beside them. Sebastian brushed it off with a shrug. He's probably in the library. You know him. But Lyra's brow furrowed.

By lunch, when Ominis again failed to appear, she studied him too long, as though searching his face for an answer.

By dinner, she finally asked.

"Where's Ominis?"

The words were simple, but Sebastian felt them drop like a stone into his stomach. He stabbed at his potatoes and forced a shrug. "Busy, I expect."

Lyra tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. "He's never too busy for us. Not for three meals in a row."

His throat burned. He kept his eyes on his plate.

She set her fork down. "Sebastian. What happened?"

And just like that, their perfect twenty-four hours unraveled.

The truth spilled before he could stop it. Not all of it. He couldn't bring himself to repeat the venom of their fight, Ominis's cruel jab about Anne, his own ugly retorts he'd thrown. But he told her enough. What was the point of secrecy now, when the promise had already been shattered? Besides, he refused to lie to Lyra when things were just beginning for them.

"There was a deal," he said hoarsely. "Back at the start of the year. That neither of us would . . . pursue you."

Lyra blinked. "A deal?"

"To protect our friendship." His chest tightened. "But then you kissed me, and I couldn't—I didn't want to stop." His voice cracked, dropping lower. "I don't want to stop."

The silence was unbearable. He risked a glance. Lyra's lips parted, her brows drawn, her expression raw with something more than shock. Hurt.

"So Ominis—" Her voice faltered. "He has feelings for me?"

Sebastian closed his eyes. "Yes."

And with that, the air between them shifted.

Lyra grew quiet. He brushed her hand beneath the table, but she didn't return the touch.

"Lyra?"

"Oh my god," she muttered under her breath.

"Lyra—"

"Oh my god."

"Talk to me."

She pressed her hands to her face. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

"Hey—hey." He abandoned her hand, since both of hers were pressing into her eyes anyway, and rested his palm against her thigh beneath the table. "Lyra, it's fine."

Her voice came muffled through her fingers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I—wouldn't that just have complicated things? If we'd told you we both wanted you?"

"No! Well—yes. Maybe." She dragged her hands down her face in exasperation. "I don't know! But why make a stupid deal? Why not just let me choose?"

"That's—!" Sebastian lowered his voice. "That's what I said at first. But Ominis insisted the deal would keep our friendship safe."

Lyra groaned, muffling another litany of "oh my god"s into her palms.

"And now Ominis won't even be around you? You're fighting?" she demanded, dropping her hands at last. "Are you two even friends anymore?"

"I don't know," Sebastian admitted, the words cutting him as he said them.

Lyra shook her head, eyes bright with panic. She shoved her plate aside and stood abruptly, storming out of the Great Hall.

His heart lurched. He was on his feet in an instant, following her all the way down to the Undercroft.

"Lyra, don't—" His voice cracked as the door slid open. "Please don't blame yourself."

She paced furiously, wringing her hands, her expression taut with conflict.

When she finally spoke, her eyes shimmered, though her voice stayed steady. "I can't be the reason you and Ominis fall apart. I won't, Sebastian."

"You're not—" He caught her wrist, gentle, pleading. "This isn't your fault. It's mine. I broke the deal. I'll fix it."

She slipped free, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. If us being together means tearing your friendship apart . . . then it can't happen."

Her words hit harder than any curse.

"What? No—Lyra." His hands found her shoulders, steadying, desperate. "Ever since you kissed me, I've never felt more alive. Doesn't this feel right to you?"

"Yes, but . . ." She faltered. "This is driving a wedge between you and Ominis."

"And he'll get over it," Sebastian insisted, his hands sliding to cup her face. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. "Please don't pull away from me, Lyra."

Her lips twisted. A tear slipped down her cheek, and he brushed it away with aching tenderness.

"I care about you," she whispered, covering his hand with hers. "You know I do. But I can't do this. Not like this."

And then she was gone, her footsteps echoing, the Undercroft door sliding shut behind her.

Sebastian stood frozen in the silence, shadows pressing closer where her warmth had been.

For once, he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted Lyra. He wanted the way she made the world spark with laughter and fire. He wanted the stolen moments that made him feel alive instead of haunted.

And now he losing her.

Because of Ominis. Because of his own damn guilt. Because he'd broken one stupid promise.

Because of that infernal deal.

His fists clenched until his nails cut into his palms. The truth churned inside him, relentless, suffocating: he could not bear to let her go. Not after everything else he had already lost.

With a grunt, he kicked one of the crates. Then another. The sound echoed off the stone, useless against the anger boiling in his chest.

He'd just gotten her. And in the space of a single day, he'd lost her.

And for the first time in a very long time, Sebastian Sallow had no idea how to hold on.

Chapter Text

Morning crept into the Slytherin common room like water seeping through cracks in stone. Quiet, insistent, impossible to ignore. Enough to remind Ominis that time moved forward whether he was ready or not.

He sat in his usual armchair near the fire, the warmth brushing his fingers. His wand lay loose across his palm, humming faintly, his anchor in the shifting space. Around him, the other Slytherins murmured over tea and books, their voices a low, steady current he could drift in and out of at will.

But he wasn't listening.

His thumb worried the wax seal of a letter. Edges soft now from how many times he had unfolded and folded it back.

Anne's handwriting had always been neat, every line steady, as though she were determined never to let the world see her falter. But this letter betrayed her. Words slanted, spacing uneven, like a hand forced by pain or haste. And truthfully, he was startled she had written at all. Only one letter over the summer. Another, barely a month ago. And now this.

He had read the same sentences a dozen times:

The curse is still worsening. So much so that I could not manage it on my own. I've checked myself into St. Mungo's. Please, Ominis, don't tell Sebastian until term ends. I know how this would unravel him. He deserves at least one year without worry. Promise me you won't tell him. He'll only rush here and lose everything. Perhaps you two can come visit once you leave Hogwarts for the summer. I'll write again when I can.

Ominis pressed the parchment flat against his knee, his jaw tight. He could hear her voice in those words. Brave, stubborn, unyielding. The same Anne who had stood her ground against Sebastian when he tore down dark paths last year. The same Anne who, despite everything, still thought first of her brother.

It was admirable. It was infuriating.

Because he wanted to protect both of them. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep that promise.

Because Sebastian had betrayed him, and was no longer a friend.

And Anne, clearly, was dying.

-----

The days that followed passed in a blur of brittle routine. Ominis went to classes, sat with a book open across his knees in the common room, still delivered the occasional dry remark when Garreth Weasley's cauldron threatened to boil over. On the surface, nothing had changed.

But beneath, something gnawed.

And he noticed. He alway noticed.

Sebastian's footsteps no longer sought his in the corridors. In fact, no footsteps matched his at all. The space beside him at meals stayed empty, the scrape of cutlery echoing louder for it. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sebastian's laugh—once quick, warm, irrepressible—was gone, replaced by silence so heavy it dragged at Ominis's chest.

Lyra's absence was just as palpable. He caught her voice at other tables, with Poppy or Natty, her laughter pitched a touch too high. But it was never near Sebastian. Never near him.

Ominis pieced it together. He always did.

They had been together. For a time. One blissful day, perhaps two. Then suddenly, silence. Coldness. Her sunlight withdraw from Sebastian.

And Sebastian—Merlin, Sebastian was unraveling. Even at a distance, Ominis could hear it in the cadence of his voice, the hollow weight of his steps. He tried to mask it, burying himself in essays, in idle chatter with classmates who couldn't possibly know him the way Ominis did. But the strain was there, obvious to anyone who knew where to listen.

Two fractures at once: Lyra gone, and Sebastian ignorant to the fact that Anne was slipping further away.

Ominis had thought he could stomach his own heartbreak, that burying his feelings beneath loyalty and restraint would be enough. But not like this. Not while Sebastian was breaking.

Not while Sebastian had no idea Anne might not survive after all.

-----

He found Lyra one afternoon in the library, shafts of sunlight warming him through tall windows, the scent of dust dancing in the air. She sat curled at a corner table, parchment rustling restlessly under her fingers.

Ominis heard her before he reached her. The faint sigh, the restless shift of pages. His wand guided him toward her, humming lightly as it sensed her presence.

"Lyra."

"Ominis. I—" She hesitated, and he imagined her biting her lip, eyes darting away. "Do you need this table?"

"No." His voice was calm, deliberate. "But I do need to speak with you."

A pause, then the scrape of a chair as she gestured him closer.

Ominis lowered himself across from her, setting his wand gently on the wood. He let the silence breath between them for a moment before carefully unfolding Anne's letter once more. He slid the parchment across the table.

"I heard from Anne." His voice was low, measured.

Lyra's breath caught. "Is she—?"

She cut herself off as she grabbed the letter, those damning words spilling into her silence.

"She's holding on," Ominis said, though his throat ached around the words. "But she's worse. She's at St. Mungo's now. She begged me not to tell Sebastian. Said she didn't want to ruin what's left of his year."

Lyra's hands crinkled the paper slightly. "Oh, Anne . . . "

"I don't know how long I can keep this from him." His exhaled came slow, deliberate. "He's already unraveling. And you know why."

Her silence was answer enough.

Eventually, she whispered, "Sebastian told me . . . everything. About the deal. About—you."

"And you pulled away," Ominis said, sharper now, though not unkind. "I understand why. You didn't want to be the reason we broke apart." He paused, then added, quieter: "But you should know—the deal Sebastian and I made was doomed from the start. We told ourselves it was to protect our friendship. But it was only ever a delay of the inevitable."

Her chair creaked as she leaned forward. "Ominis, I . . . I never realized you had . . ."

Feelings for her. She didn't need to finish the thought.

"Is it true?" she asked instead.

He inclined his head. There was no use lying now. "I cared for you, Lyra. I still do. And obviously, so does he."

Her breath hitched, the sound small but sharp.

"But here's the truth." His voice softened, stripped of its usual edges. "He's breaking without you. I won't stand in the way of what makes you both happy. Not anymore."

The words hung between them, raw, unguarded.

Lyra whispered, "You—you're telling me to choose him?"

"Yes." The word scraped his throat but held steady. "Because he needs you. And because—" His hands curled against the tabletop. "Because I'd rather see you happy with him than watch you vanish from us both."

Silence pressed down, thick as dust in the air. He imagined her eyes wide, searching him for cracks.

"Ominis . . . " Her voice was fragile. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll consider it," he murmured. "Say you'll stop punishing him for something that was never yours to bear. He's going to need you, Lyra. Once he learns of Anne."

Her chair shifted, her sleeve brushing wood as she leaned closer. "And what about you?"

He let out a humorless laugh. "I'll endure. I always do."

But then, softer: "And I'll reconcile with him. I swear it. I've been a fool to let pride keep us apart. Whatever it costs me, I won't lose him. Or you. Not now. Not with Anne fading."

Though when Ominis left the library, the sun no longer warmed him through the glass. His chest ached, hollowed out by what he had given up.

But for the first time in weeks, something else burned beneath the ache.

Resolve.

He would tell Sebastian everything. About Anne. About his own feelings, about his decision not to stand in the way any longer.

Because family, by blood or choice, was worth more than pride.

And because Sebastian Sallow—reckless, impossible, beloved fool—deserved to know he was not alone in this.

Chapter Text

Sebastian hadn't felt whole in days.

The castle seemed drained of its life. Corridors blurred together, classes passed in a haze of droning voices, and even the Undercroft—once his refuge—echoed with a silence too sharp to bear. Lyra's absence clung to him like smoke, woven into every empty space, every pause where laughter used to be.

The cruelest part was how little he'd truly had her. Barely a day, twenty-four hours stolen against all odds, before the world had wrenched her away again.

Pain was not new to him. He had made his uneasy peace with it when Anne slipped beyond his reach, when Solomon collapsed at his feet. But this grief was different, gnawing at him from the inside out. It was his fault and not his fault all at once. He had wanted her, lost her, and now she was both unbearably near and impossibly far.

He sat slumped on a bench in the Defense Against the Dart Arts Tower, a book open in his lap. For twenty-minutes he had stared at the same page, words swimming uselessly before his eyes. Sunlight cut across his face, too bright, and he pressed a hand to his forehead, unsure whether he was shielding himself from the light or from the glances of students passing by.

Then he heard it.

"Sebastian."

Her voice.

He froze, breath lodged in his throat. For a heartbeat, he refused to move, convinced it was some cruel trick of memory. But when he lifted his head, there she was. Lyra. Her hair loose around her shoulders, her dark eyes steady and impossibly earnest.

His mouth went dry. He half-rose, words tangling and collapsing before they could leave him. Every apology, every desperate confession he'd rehearsed on sleepless nights vanished in the heat of her presence.

"Lyra . . . " His voice cracked. "I—Merlin, I didn't think—"

But she was already stepping closer.

"I've made up my mind," she said quietly.

His chest constricted, bracing for the blow. He prepared himself to wear neutrality like armor, to endure her choice with dignity he didn't feel, to not flinch when she said she couldn't be with him for Ominis's sake. But then, she smiled. Small, trembling, certain.

"I want you, Sebastian."

The words struck him like a breath after drowning, slow and disbelieving. He blinked once. Twice. "Me?" he whispered.

"Yes. You." She lifted her hand, brushing his cheek with a feather-light touch. "Despite everything. Despite the deal, the mistakes, your maddening stubbornness. I want you."

A laugh burst out of him, broken and incredulous. He rose, the book tumbling forgotten from his lap as he caught her face in his hands and crashed his mouth to hers. "You don't know what you've just done to me," he murmured against her lips. "I was—Merlin, I was miserable without you."

Her expression softened. "Then don't be anymore."

The words undid him. He pulled her into his arms, relief crashing over him with dizzying force. For the first time in days, he could breath. He buried his face in her hair, drinking in parchment and lavender, the scent he had thought he'd lost forever.

They stayed locked in that fragile eternity until footsteps broke the moment.

"Touching," Ominis drawled. His tone was dry, though the usual edge had dulled.

Sebastian stiffened, guilt rising like bile. But Lyra's hand found his arm before she stepped back, standing tall beside him.

Ominis tilted his head toward them, wand loose in his grip. Though his eyes were clouded as ever, Sebastian swore he felt them pierce straight through him.

"Ominis—" he began, shame thick on his tongue.

"Don't." Ominis cut him off with a raised hand. His voice was steady, but there was fragility beneath it, a hairline crack threatening to split. "You two deserve happiness."

"Actually," Lyra said softly, "Ominis is the one who told me . . . "

She didn't finish, but Sebastian caught her meaning. His head snapped toward Ominis, disbelief flashing through him. "You?"

"If it's you, then so be it," Ominis said.

Sebastian swallowed hard. "You don't have to say that. Not if it hurts."

"It does hurt." Ominis gave a short, sharp laugh that was anything but amused. "But I think we can all be mature about this. And I'd rather live with pain than lose my friends altogether. I won't stand in the way anymore. You're both insufferable. Perhaps that's why you deserve each other."

Sebastian almost smiled at that. Almost.

But then Ominis reached into his cloak and withdrew a folded letter. His tone shifted, suddenly grave. "There's also something you need to read."

Sebastian took it, stomach twisting as he recognized the handwriting. "Anne?"

"Yes," Ominis said quietly. "She asked me not to tell you until term ended. But I can't keep it from you any longer. I'm worried, Sebastian."

Hands trembling, Sebastian unfolded the parchment. His eyes devoured the words, but with each line, his vision blurred. Not from ink but from tears.

Anne's voice lived in the letter, raw with pain. She spoke of St. Mungo's, of the curse tightening its grip. She begged him not to worry until exams were done, as though that mattered when his sister was fading away.

"No . . ." Sebastian's knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the bench, the letter quaking in his hands. "She can't—she can't be this bad. She can't—"

Ominis placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

The world lurched. Solomon's lifeless body, Anne's twisted face, Lyra walking away. Every loss he'd ever endured crashed down at once. His chest tightened until he couldn't breath. With a strangled gasp, he lurched to his feet and fled, the letter crumpled in his fist.

"Sebastian!" Lyra's voice chased him, her footsteps quick behind.

He tore through the corridor, shoving past startled students until he burst onto a balcony overlooking the Black Lake. The air struck him cold and sharp, but it wasn't enough. He staggered to the edge, gripping the stone railing as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered. Below, the lake stretched vast and merciless, black as ink.

His breath fractured into gasps. Anne dying alone. Solomon falling. Lyra leaving. The words pounded in his skull: I ruin everything I touch.

By the time Lyra reached him, he was bent over the railing, hands trembling.

"Sebastian!" She seized his arm, yanking him back. Her voice cut through the spiral like steel. "Look at me."

"I can't—" He twisted away, shame raw on his face. "Don't you see? I'll destroy you too. I destroy everyone. I'm the monster who killed Solomon. I couldn't save Anne. I couldn't even keep you. I'm cursed, Lyra—"

"Stop." She stepped in front of him, hands pressed hard against his chest as if to anchor him. Her gaze, fierce and steady, pinned him in place. "You haven't failed me."

The words landed like a spell.

"You won't fail me," she continued, softer now, her palms sliding up to cradle his face. "Not as long as we face this together. No more running. No more walls. I'm choosing you. I. Choose. You."

Her conviction broke through the storm. Slowly, his shaking eased. She guided his hand to her heart, her breathing steady, and urged him to match her rhythm. His chest rose and fell, ragged at first, then steadier as he clung to her gaze.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Okay," she echoed. "Together. Always."

Something inside him gave way. Not to despair, but to surrender. He kissed her. It was not gentle but desperate, a vow forged in grief and longing. She met him with equal force, her fingers tangled in his hair, grounding him in the certainty that he wasn't alone.

When they broke apart, the sun had dipped low, spilling fire across the valley. The light painted Lyra in gold and crimson, as if the world itself wanted him to remember what beauty was still worth holding onto.

Forehead pressed to hers, he whispered hoarsely, "I'm so afraid of losing Anne . . . of losing everything . . . even you."

Lyra's thumb brushed his cheek. "You won't lose me. And the rest—we'll face together."

For the first time in a long while, Sebastian believed her. But he also knew that this was just the beginning.

And he wasn't sure whether that was supposed to fill him with hope or terror.

The end.

(Book 2 coming soon!)